World
by B. Banana
Summary: (SIII, yaoi) Huzzah for completely random pairings! Huzzah for Nash and Duke, too.
1. Chapter One

"World"

++

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, don't sue me. I'll pay you in paperclips and cheese.

Warning: Like always, this is yaoi, that is, men getting it on with men. Don't like, don't read, don't complain, or I'll punch you. A little different this time, this _isn't _a Flik/Viktor. It's a Nash/Duke. Huzzah for random pairings, don't you think? Anyway, this will likely be hella-long, and this is only the first chapter, so have fun and don't make fun of me or I'll cry.

++

Words, even those uttered in excitement, are generally concrete and irrevocable. Once they pass through one's lips they hang in the air and linger, affecting all those who hear them. Some words have a greater effect than others do and all are interpreted differently.

If he could have now, he never would have spoken to the man. He certainly wouldn't have told him he loved him. It seemed that with the low murmur of those words he was plunged into darkness, pain radiating from his touch where only pleasure and comfort had before. It was an odd, sad situation; the betrayal from this man he loved shocked him into complacency, wounding him with emotional whiplash.

He cried out, not really meaning to, and struggled from the man's grasp. He should have been able to get free--his intensive training dictated that--but every time he tried to pull away his moves were countered, deceptively slim hands tightening their grasp. His own hand was brought before his face, as if the other wished to display the perfect, tapered digits. Casting a bemused stare at his beloved, he paused in his struggles for the briefest moment. It was then that the smallest finger of his left hand was seized and brought forward--forced into an awkward angle at the swell of his second knuckle. 

The wet-sick sound of bone snapping echoed in the silent air, heart-stopping in its finality. He slumped before the other man, cradling his broken hand to his chest like a wounded bird. For a moment he was too stunned to feel pain--emotional or otherwise--but almost as swiftly as the man had turned on him, he was filled with rage. His anger sent him flying at the man, the hand that wasn't injured clenched in a tight fist, more than ready to inflict some pain of his own. But with the same ease of motion that the man lent to all of his movements, he caught the fist, using the wounded's momentum against him. He tumbled into his beloved's arms with only a grunt of pain at his jarred hand.

"Now, now," the man's sibilant voice crooned, oddly comforting despite the latent threat of violence it held. It shattered him inside, as the bodily harm done to him could not. He fell against the other man, sobs wracking his small frame. Perversely, the man held him as he cried.

"Why?" The question was muffled, screamed into the other's chest. He clutched at him, his uninjured hand fisting in fine clothes.

"Why? No reason, really..."

Blue eyes clouded with agony jumped to the man's face, disbelieving. A warm smile spread on the other's fine features, followed by a look of extraordinary pity. He gathered the crying man up in his arms and smoothed his hair back from his eyes. The man comforted him, rocking him back and forth. "Stop crying, dear... Don't you love me anymore?"

++

Nash awoke from the familiar dream with a long-suffering sigh. He sat up in his small bed, leaning forward to retrieve the blanket he must have kicked off sometime during the night. His finger ached as it always did when the weather changed or he thought about it--a pleasant little reminder, or a warning rather... it was best not to get involved. But how many times had he ignored it? How many times had he loved someone?

Honestly, not often. His reputation as a wastrel was not unfounded--he wasn't terribly picky about whom he brought to his bed, just so long as he was satisfied and alone in the morning. That was as long and as in depth as he liked his relationships to be. There was very little chance of his feelings being betrayed if he had none.

Absently Nash popped his knuckles as he settled back onto the mattress. It was too long ago to be especially bitter about it now. He'd learned his lesson, and life went on. He was old enough to know now that it always did. He learned to go with the flow, that nothing was worth fighting for.

But sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he knew it was going too fast, that things were rushing past him before he could even tell what they were. It was getting harder to keep up... Perhaps it was time to retire, but then he'd really be alone. It seemed that was his fate, Nash just hoped he'd die before he got too old to take care of himself.

__

Stop feeling sorry for yourself, the man chided himself, refusing to let his bad feelings linger. _Yulie will take care of you..._

A flash of guilt overtook him, and his finger throbbed sympathetically. He'd never told her about it--about _any_ of it--and every time her then-guileless eyes had fallen to him the shame of what he'd done pressed down on him like an ever-increasing weight. That's why he left--why he'd run away. He'd never told anyone about what happened and how deeply he'd been involved. Nash had kept that secret for so long--fifteen years and counting--he'd be damned if he was going to bring it up now.

Nash folded his arms over his bare chest. As he closed his eyes, he tried not to grasp too desperately at the world moving around him.

++chapter one++

"Duke! Duke!! Over here!"

The fiery-haired man desperately wished he could ignore the throaty blonde signaling him over. But he knew from experience that Elaine wouldn't stop calling until he was planted by her side. Sparing them both the embarrassment, Duke strolled over to the table his teammate occupied. He sat down, suppressing a grimace as Elaine all but fell into his lap. It wasn't that he didn't like her, or that he was upset that he had a beautiful woman falling all over him, he just wished she wouldn't do it in public. It made him look bad, like some kind of romantic ninny. Duke separated himself from the woman to order a beer. Elaine backed away, trying to look knowing and confident but only managing to look put-off. _Fine, whatever_, he thought. _Let her pout._

The beer came quickly, slammed onto the table by a careless waitress. The golden liquid sloshed over the mug, forming little foamy pools on the scarred tabletop. Duke brought the mug to his lips and drank deeply, concentrating more on the effect rather than the bitter flavor. He had a feeling he'd need it tonight.

Returning the beer to the table, Duke resigned himself to being with Elaine. The woman's taloned fingers closed around his thigh, squeezing an upward path. He took another swig of beer. She smiled coyly with a sidelong glance, which Duke pointedly ignored. His eyes scanned the bar room, looking for anything to distract Elaine.

The only other patron in the bar had his back to them. He seemed to be chatting up a waitress who was giggling and looking away shyly. Her gaze fell upon the couple for the barest moment before returning to the unknown man. Her look, brief as it was, was enough to make the man turn in his seat, glancing over his shoulder at Duke. He raised his cup in a silent salute before waving the girl away. Duke watched the man as he left a coin on the bar and left.

The mercenary turned to his female partner. "Who was that?" He asked. Elaine shrugged.

"Some guy," she answered. "I talked to him once, but I don't remember his name." Which basically translated to: "Some guy I once made a pass at but was too drunk to remember."

Duke grunted. "Never seen him before."

Not that that was unusual, of course. There were a lot of people he didn't know at Budehuc. He and his team had only arrived six weeks ago, and Duke really only spent his time in the bar or on the training ground. This guy must be one of those non-fighter types. If that was true, then he wasn't worth his time. Duke had no use for those that couldn't take up arms and fight. He took another swig of beer.

"Hm, so, Duke..." Elaine began, inching closer yet again.

He stood up briskly, shaking free of the woman's grasp. Elaine rolled her eyes, resting her chin on one of her hands, the other impatiently drumming on the table. Duke did this to her quite often with this attitude of "off again off again." Nowadays she practically had to throw her naked body at him before he'd express any interest. She didn't understand--she knew she was beautiful...

Oh, well... Maybe what her mother had told her was true--free milk and all that. Elaine sighed, watching the man retreat. Perhaps she'd come on too strong...

No matter, Elaine thought breezily, as she set her sights on another man. An opportunity lost is an opportunity gained, she always said. 

My, she was just filled with old expressions tonight.

++

Duke left the bar before finishing his first beer. And while he might have been pissed about the loss of his dear lover, alcohol, he was even more upset that he'd been driven from the place. Damn Elaine and all her feminine wiles straight to hell--that's what he said--and any other females could just hop right along and join her. He hadn't a use for them! Not a one.

Well, maybe just one.

The fiery-haired man rounded the corner, looking for somewhere--anywhere--to go to. It was still relatively early in the evening and for a man used to carousing until the wee hours of the morning; sleep was as far off as the plains of Karaya.

Duke knew what he _didn't_ feel like doing, and that was Elaine. The man failed to suppress his bark of laughter at the joke, undoubtedly disturbing some of the hall's early sleepers. Mirth and good humor momentarily took him as he congratulated his own cleverness before his aimless boredom reasserted itself. He'd spent the greater part of the afternoon hours on the training field perfecting his hack and bash style and he didn't particularly feel like returning. The only other place he spent time at besides the tavern was his chambers, and he was only ever in there to boff and sleep.

So it seemed he had run out on his limited repertoire of things to do. Oh well. He figured it was going to happen one day. For a moment he toyed with the idea of calling Ace out, just to see the reaction on that ass's face, but wisely thought better of it before the door to that particular room was passed. Maybe some other time, when he wasn't so tired. Duke had to keep something for a rainy day, after all.

As if by thinking of his weariness, his muscles were suddenly reminded of just how tired and achy they were. Duke frowned as a tiny muscle in his neck throbbed with forgotten pain, bringing one sword-callused hand up to massage it. Not that it helped any--his untalented fingers did naught more than bring more attention to it. He cursed under his breath, shoulders momentarily slouching as he combated his rebelling body.

Perhaps it was time to take a well-earned break. Doubling back the way he came, Duke headed in the direction of the baths. At this time, they should be deserted...and it wasn't, he had ways of making it that way very easily.

Duke's sharp, cunning mouth twisted upwards in a caricature of a smile as he imagined the unfortunate bath takers running from him in fear. There wasn't too much he couldn't achieve with violence.

He was always surprised, walking the castle at night, of how many of the residents were in bed by midnight. Duke was glad that the walls were so thick; he didn't want to know what was happening just behind those doors.

Actually, he did know, he'd just really rather not think of it. Given his current position, he really didn't think it was his place to comment. Not, of course, that had ever stopped him before.

He entered the baths, stepping into the warm moist air. He came just in time to see Jacques, Geddoe's little teammate, pull on a yukata over his skinny body. A moment later Geddoe emerged, toweling his hair dry. Duke glared at the two half-naked men, but his malice went unnoticed by the others.

"Duke," Geddoe said, before covering up.

"Geddoe."

On his tongue were several scathing insults he was just waiting to let fly, but fortunately not even Duke was that foolish. It still pissed him off a bit, that Geddoe had ultimately beaten him in everything he'd ever tried to do in his life.

All right, it pissed him off more than a bit.

He followed the men with his eyes as they moved from the bathhouse, remaining perfectly motionless until they'd left. Sending a growl at the closed door, Duke kicked a small bucket of water and sent it flying. There wasn't much that could get him in as bad a mood as Geddoe. Coupled with Elaine and his lost beer, Duke was ready to throttle the next breathing thing that crossed his path.

Duke unclothed briskly, dropping his clothes in a disorderly heap. Not bothering with a towel, Duke simply poured a bucket of water over his head. The small stool he sat on creaked under his weight as he sat. Without much thought, he worked up a fine lather with some soap he retrieved from across the room. He was lost in the familiar motions of bathing--slick hands coursing over moist skin; kneading tired muscle. Duke washed his hair, too, just for good measure. He'd almost achieved a sense of calm when the door opened.

Duke turned to see the man whom had entered. It was the same guy from before, from the bar. He scowled at no one in particular--at least for now. The mercenary listened as the other man removed his clothes, and watched him from the corner of his eye.

He had been sure that this man was a non-fighter before, but now Duke wasn't so sure. The man was lightly muscled, slim; he had a body like one of those dancers Duke had seen in some tavern somewhere. But his paler skin was as marred by scars and wounds as his own. Admirable. He wrapped a towel around his waist and sat a few yards away from the red-haired man.

"Good evening," he said, scooping up a wash cloth. Duke grunted in reply, his annoyance showing through. "Pleasant night, isn't it?" He continued despite the lack of response and Duke's brisk manner.

"I suppose for you, maybe." Duke hoped his tone would discourage further conversation, unfortunately, he wasn't that lucky.

The man responded with a chuckle. "I'm sorry, friend...Actually, I don't believe we've been introduced. I'm Nash Clovis."

"Duke." The mercenary stood up, making to leave. Under different circumstances he wouldn't have minded a little company, but...

"If you wait a moment, I'll join you."

But Nash seemed intent on joining him regardless. Duke decided to just give in. At least he wouldn't hang all over him like Elaine would.

"Usually I'm the only one in the baths this late; I'd be pleased to have some company." Nash smoothed back his damp hair, pushing rogue locks of it behind his ear. Duke regarded the other man warily, but could really see nothing wrong with him. He waited for him to finish washing before entering the bath.

The water was warm, as expected. Effervescent tendrils of water vapor escaped and dispersed in the air and upwards into the rafters, where eventually they would warp the wood. Duke slipped naked into the water with a groan and a sigh. Nash relaxed beside him, his towel now folded neatly and resting on his head. Almost immediately the blond man tried to strike up a conversation.

"So, Duke, was that your woman in there?" Nash's smile, as calm and pleasant as the water, struck Duke as false. He raised one suspicious brow at the other man, his blue eyes turned sharp.

"You could say that, I suppose." Duke's intense stare didn't waver as he spoke.

"Lucky man," said Nash, his own eyes falling shut. "Though I feel obligated to tell you that she tried to pick me up after you left."

Duke ignored the flash of anger that manifested itself at the other man's words. He didn't really care who Elaine spent her time with besides him, but the fact that Nash had come and told him about it bothered him. Was he trying to impress him or make him jealous, or something? Who did he think he was? Duke had started bar fights for less than this. Nash had a lot of balls, talking to him like this.

"Being a married man myself, I know how it is with women."

That comment brought Duke's eyes flying to Nash's face once again. How old was this guy? For the first time he really examined his face. Besides the fine lines netting the other's eyes, he could have been Duke's age. His blond hair showed no evidence of gray, and the whole of his face was youthful and generally pleasing to the eye. Duke scrutinized Nash, though he didn't know what he was looking for, if indeed he was looking for anything at all.

He was so taken studying the man that Duke didn't realize that one of Nash's blue eyes had opened and he was staring at him amusedly.

"Find what you're looking for?" He asked, his voice a soft murmur.

Duke turned away, though he knew it was a bit too late to save face. Nash's smile didn't falter. In his many years, he'd dealt with a lot of men just like Duke: gruff, possessive and arrogant--masculine in almost every aspect. They were often the most fun to mess with. Nash leaned forward so he could look the other man full in the face. His mouth opened as he prepared to speak, but Duke was already climbing out of the bath. The blond man blinked at his retreating backside, surprised that the man had suddenly turned skittish on him. With only a moment's hesitation, Nash pulled himself from the water to follow Duke.

The mercenary was toweling himself off when Nash approached, dripping water onto the slightly dingy cypress floor. Stooped as Duke was, he didn't see the other man come near and therefore wasn't given the opportunity to react when he was slammed against the wall. 

"What the hell...?" He wondered aloud, his white-blue eyes shooting up to Nash's face. Duke was vaguely surprised to find that Nash was taller than he was--if only by an inch or so. "What do you think you're doing?!" Duke raged against Nash, but was held fast by his forearms. The blond chuckled, and braced himself firmly with his legs. Duke was stronger--obviously--but he had better leverage.

Nash paused for a brief second. Just what the hell _was_ he doing, anyway...? Evidently, he was looking for some fun, if Duke wasn't too objective, but it was clear that he would be. Perhaps Nash had thought wrong, going about things with the direct approach--it'd always worked before, but... the look in Duke's eyes was affronted, not pleasantly surprised, pissed off and not yielding. Nash backed away, unsure of how the other man would react, but unable to resist stroking Duke's slick chest before he did so.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Duke yelled, after a short pause. His large hands fisted at his sides, ready to pound Nash into an unrecognizable pulp.

"Sorry, I thought you were someone else. Someone I knew from a while ago," said Nash with a wink. He recovered smoothly, like he always did, joking off a potentially dangerous situation easily. Nash gave Duke his distance, unwilling to bet on the man's temper as it was. From the look of him, that was probably wise--his face was almost as red as his hair.

Nash continued about his bath; drying off and pulling a robe over his body to hid his nakedness. Duke sputtered in the corner, his surprise rendering his anger ineffectual. He stared after the blond man, disbelieving; as if something like that could _never_ happen to _him_. Nash happened to glance up and meet his gaze, and returned it with a jolly smile.

"It was an accident, Duke. Don't get so worked up." Nash studied his face for another long moment, contemplating what he saw there, before turning back to synch his robe shut.

Duke's reaction alone, the older man thought, was enough to make him question whether or not he should have backed off. Imagine if he had continued...! If the man brought that fiery passion to everything he did...

Nash chanced a glance at Duke through the corner of his eye. He seemed to have recovered a bit--he wasn't blankly staring at nothing anymore, anyway--and had started to dry himself off. His well-muscled body glistened in the dim lamplight; his skin lightly bronzed except for the pale lines of scars, but Nash was no stranger to those, himself. Duke's face, while not Nash's usual fare, was sharp and broad--almost feral. A hint of a snarl still hovered on his full lips, which Nash seemed incapable of tearing his gaze from. Something about the man made Nash want to shove him against the wall and take him, but he wisely resisted. Later...

Duke, it seemed, had better start getting used to him--Nash was going to be around a bit more often...

++

There he was again. Duke swore that Nash was deliberately hanging around at the corner of his vision--he was eternally there, never doing anything, just _sitting_. When Duke turned to confront the man, Nash always had a smile ready; patronizing him. It'd been a week since their first encounter in the baths, and ever since then Nash's presence was unshakable, like a wraith, a fleeting ghost of his vision.

Honestly, Duke couldn't figure out why Nash was hanging around. After that incident in the baths, he'd have thought that the blond would want to stay as far from him as possible. Did he _want_ Duke to beat the living hell out of him? Because that's what was going to happen if he didn't leave him alone. What the hell did Nash want from him?

The tavern was busy that night, if Nash had wanted to be discreet and blend into the crowd, he could have. But the man seemed to take delight in bringing notice to himself. Nash walked by his table, heading to the bar, and as he did so, he delivered a knowing wink in his general direction. Duke averted his eyes; unfortunately, they landed on Elaine, whom gazed at him questioningly.

"Damned if I know," the mercenary snapped in regard to the gaze. Elaine sat back in her chair dejectedly. She hadn't even asked a question and Duke was biting her head off. Why couldn't she win with this guy? In a pout, she crossed her arms over her massive chest.

"Quit bitching," Duke told her, rolling his eyes. "If I knew what was wrong with that guy, I'd probably tell you."

"Probably?" Elaine echoed. She frowned, not entirely sure whether or not to appear hurt. It didn't matter either way, however. Duke was already turned away, chasing after Nash as the blond man left the bar. The female mercenary stared at the space her captain used to occupy, blinking.

Duke waited until Nash was a ways away from the tavern before rounding on him. He grabbed the man's wrist and jerked him backward, causing Nash to stumble a bit before he came to a halt. 

"Yes?" Nash glanced at Duke's hand locked around his wrist, though he didn't try to pull away. "Something I can do for you?"

"How about you leave me the hell alone?!"

Nash had the audacity to look innocent. "I haven't spoken to you but once, Duke. How could I leave you anymore alone?"

Duke snarled, his hands moving to fist in the fabric of Nash's shirt. The blond grunted as he was slammed against the corridor wall.

"_Don't screw around with me! _You think I haven't seen you? Following me around?!" The red-haired man brought their faces together, their noses almost touching. Nash's eyes dropped to Duke's mouth, watching as his lips pulled back, revealing a row of white teeth.

Nash smirked, though his feet dangled several inches off the floor. His hands trailed down Duke's straining arms, quickly grabbing either side of his face. There was very little distance between them, and it took very little effort to close it--which Nash did, covering Duke's lips with his own.

The mercenary was too shocked to respond, even as he felt Nash's tongue at his lips, questing for entrance. After a long moment the Harmonian found himself sliding back to the ground, Duke's grasp suddenly turned lax. He broke the kiss and pushed Duke away, laughing to himself as he continued on his way down the hall.

Duke stared after him, his mouth agape. All of his rational thoughts flitting from his head like so many startled birds. 

__

What...?! How?!?!?!

He was still peering down the hall when Elaine arrived by his side, an odd look on her face.

"What's your problem? Did he punch you or something?" The man didn't answer--didn't even turn around, but continued to stare blankly. After awhile, Elaine gave up trying to get a response from him but grabbed onto his arm. The sudden, squeezing pressure on the limb snapped Duke back from whatever paralysis he'd been in, and he gritted his teeth as he extricated himself from the woman's grasp. 

"I'm not in the mood," he bit out, sending a disdainful glance her way. It was pretty bad when getting kissed by a man was favorable to letting Elaine touch him. With a parting glance down the hall, Duke turned around. He really needed to get plastered now. Maybe if he were lucky, he'd forget it ever happened.

He was deep in his cups before he thought of the kiss again, and only then it was one, resounding thought.

I thought he was married...?

++


	2. Chapter Two

++chapter two++

The law of entropy states that things, in general, tend to gravitate towards a greater measure of randomness and disorder. This proved true for Duke, or at least for his room, which literally looked like a keg of gunpowder had been lit and exploded inside his wardrobe. Clothes, both dirty and clean, were strewn about haphazardly, hiding whatever strange and mayhap dangerous objects that rested on the floor. It was hard to believe that the man had only lived at Budehuc for six weeks, for surely that type of mess took years to fully cultivate.

Whenever someone was stupid enough to approach him about it, Duke always responded in the same manner. He simply claimed that he liked it that way; that, yes, he _did_ like to attract pests, and yes, he _did_ enjoy risking his life crossing the room on a daily basis. However, he would also extend an offer for this person to clean it up if it so pleased him, which usually scared any inquirers away, anyway.

It was in this room--if one could call it that--that Duke had spent most of his time for the past week. He figured that Nash couldn't bug him if he stayed in there.

Well, alright, that wasn't _exactly_ true.

Duke despised lying to himself, but he'd do it if he had to. This was one of those situations where he felt it best for his sanity and general well-being if he did. It just so happened to be that for the past week, Duke had been agonizing over that simple kiss in the hallway. It was such a stupid, trifling, little thing, and yet, when he chose to (never, if he could help it) he could still recall the feeling of Nash's lips on his. They were as soft as any woman's--softer, if that woman was Elaine--and smirking; laughing at him.

And the truth of the matter was, Duke wouldn't terribly mind encountering those lips again. He really wouldn't mind seeing those lips doing something other than smirking at him and he especially wouldn't mind feeling those lips against his own--or other parts of his body, for that matter. But the truth is overrated, anyway.

The mercenary paced his room, plowing through stray laundry and stubbing his toe on his long-lost sharpening stone, which certainly did nothing to improve his already stormy mood. Hobbling over to a chair disguised as a bookshelf/hamper, Duke cursed the world and all moving things therein. Especially married, blonde men who didn't have any business going about kissing dangerous, hardened mercenary captains. This was all Nash's fault. Whenever Duke felt ready to leave his room, that man was going to get such a pounding.

Duke growled when a certain part of his brain took the threat the wrong way and agreed, snickering. This was why he got drunk all the time.

Which didn't seem like a bad idea, now that he thought about it. It wasn't like he could get into too much trouble if he stayed in his room, right? Duke started hunting for that bottle of vodka he knew he had laying around somewhere. Fifteen minutes and a growing pile of empties later, the fiery-haired man gave up looking. His room had ate something precious to him, once again. Knowing his luck, he'd probably find it by stepping on it and/or breaking it a few weeks from then.

Standing amidst the wreckage he caused during the frantic search, Duke sighed in defeat. He was going to have to leave his room, and probably face Nash again. Maybe he could manage to sneak to the tavern and back unnoticed...?

Wait a minute. He was the captain of the Fourteenth Unit of the Holy Harmonia Kingdom's Southern Frontier Defense Force. He didn't _sneak_ anywhere, and he certainly didn't hide from twiggy, weak, pencil-necked, long-legged, slender, roguishly handsome...

__

NO.

Duke beat his head against the bedpost a couple of times before falling onto the mattress, ready to beat the snot out of himself and his treacherous brain. Why couldn't it just get the point? He didn't like men! He didn't! No, no, no, no, no! Maybe if he said it a couple of times, his brain would understand.

He didn't like men.

He didn't like men.

He _didn't _like men.

He liked one man.

It's horrible when one is brought to blows with one's self. This was a lesson Duke learned the hard way. He swore he was going to throw himself out the window, if only to shut himself up. It was times like these that made him wonder if he hadn't gone insane.

Luckily or unluckily for him, there came a knock on the door before he could do any real harm to himself. Grateful for the interruption of his internal brawl, Duke bounded to the door as best he could--his toe was still throbbing--and opened it.

Elaine stood there, her fist poised to knock again. Duke didn't catch his crestfallen look quickly enough, much to the woman's chagrin. She gave him a dry look before speaking.

"Good to see you, too, Duke." Her tone was so arid, it made the badlands of Jowston look like a blooming oasis. Reacting to the jibe the only way he knew how, he countered it with his own.

"Always a pleasure, Elaine," said Duke, moving out of the way to let her in, despite his words. This apparently pleased Elaine, as she strolled in and made herself comfortable on the bed. Duke frowned at the woman's forwardness, but chose not to comment on it. He'd never given her any reason to think she belonged anywhere else. This brought up the question as to why she was visiting in the first place. "What do you want?"

Elaine sighed dramatically, her movements becoming exaggerated. "Must I always want something when I come to see my captain?"

"That is usually how it goes, yes." Duke leaned against the door jamb and crossed his arms over his chest, his posture making it very clear that he wasn't feeling accommodating... well, less than usual, in any case.

"You're such a bastard sometimes, Duke. I could just as easily turn my attention elsewhere, you know." Elaine brought her hand up, pretending to study her perfectly manicured nails. Absently, Duke wondered how she could keep her nails that pristine and still be an effective fighter.

In response to Elaine's words, however, Duke snorted. "Like you don't. Stop trying to make me jealous, Elaine; you're not exactly a hard catch, and both of us know it."

Elaine pretended to be offended, but when the man did nothing but raise a brow at her, she gave it up. Throwing her hands up in defeat, she sighed. "Fine. I guess I'll just cut to the chase, then. You want to do it?"

For once, Duke actually considered it before responding. Maybe his reaction to Nash was simply because he'd abstained for a while. Perhaps if he gave Elaine what she wanted, the man would stop lurking in his thoughts, and give him peace. Even if it didn't work, he wouldn't be any worse off. With a shrug, Duke said, "Sure. Why the hell not? Got nothing better to do."

Elaine blinked, taken aback, like she hadn't expected Duke to agree. She recovered quickly enough though, crossing the room to snatch her prize up before he had a chance to renege. A few minutes later, she had him in bed, just where she wanted him. Elaine didn't know when this opportunity would arise again, so she made the most of it while she could.

By now the act was so routine that Duke didn't even have to think about it anymore. His thoughts turned elsewhere as he let Elaine do all the work, and he found himself wondering how it would feel if perhaps Elaine was a little more muscular, a little less curvy, and a lot more flat. He wondered what it would be like if Elaine was someone else entirely.

God, even now, he couldn't stop thinking about him. This wasn't going to work, but it was too late to stop. Duke mentally prepared himself, and tolerated Elaine's touch. His responses were automatic--unthinking and unfeeling, almost practiced. To make it easier on himself, he closed his eyes and thought of nothing but oblivion.

++

Nash turned away from the window the moment the woman entered the room. He didn't have a problem spying on people, but he was no voyeur. He had to draw the line somewhere.

It was starting to get a little cold out there, anyway. Nash briskly rubbed his arms as he leaned against the castle wall, looking up into the sky. It was late fall, and in this part of the world, that meant storms and hurricanes and rain, or so he'd heard. He had hoped to be on his way before the first storms hit, but maybe now he'd stick around for a little longer, since that he had something to do.

He hadn't started out the day with the intention of spying on Duke, really he hadn't. He had wandered outside to see where Dominguez had gotten himself off to, when he'd happened to see Duke pacing in his room, is all. It was really Duke's fault--he should think about drawing his curtains if he didn't want to attract peeping toms.

Intentional or not, Nash had stopped to see what the mercenary was up to. He hadn't seen Duke around in a while, but Nash found it amusing that Duke was hiding from him. He was really having fun playing with the other man, and it was far too nice a job to rush, so he was letting Duke have his time. After all, he knew he'd get what he wanted. No one could resist him for very long.

Nash chuckled, and the only response he got was the twittering of a bird far away. A puff of dust arose when he scuffed the ground with his boot; he watched it rise and settle before going on his way. He was a busy man, after all. He didn't have all day to coax Duke out of his room and into Nash's own.

There was about an hour or so he devoted to actual work.

Speaking of work, where was that damn bird? He should have returned with his money _yesterday._ This Dominguez was just as bad as his predecessor. Nash stomped off in the general direction of his room, wondering how much money he could get for a moderately trained Nasel bird. Hell, the meat should be worth a few potch as well.

Not that he'd ever do that, of course. For all that he complained about the bird, he'd really be quite lonely without him. Over the years, he'd actually come to enjoy Dominguez's presence a lot more than some humans. More intelligent company, most times, too. He didn't even have to worry about Dominguez trying to kill him while he slept, either. There were lots of good things about keeping a pet.

With a start, Nash wondered when he'd gotten so antisocial. Just a few years ago, he could have rattled off a list of people he'd actually enjoy spending time with. What happened to them? He vaguely remembered hearing about a few of their deaths, but that only answered half of his question. Why hadn't he kept in touch? It wasn't that hard, even though he was constantly moving around. His mail was forwarded to him via Dominguez...

When was the last time that he sat down and talked to someone? Not counting the mindless drivel he spouted to get some woman or man to fall into bed with him, he honestly couldn't remember. Nash was surprised by the wave of loneliness and sadness that washed over him, pausing briefly. He was turning into a misanthropic old man, and he hadn't even realized it.

Nash's fists clenched at his sides. He was scared. He didn't want to die alone. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see his time running out; everything passing him by... He wanted to cry out to tell it to stop, to let him catch up, but he didn't want to admit that he was frightened, or even that there was a problem at all. For so long he'd dealt with his problems by ignoring them, figuring that they'd simply solve themselves on their own. Why couldn't it work that way now? Why did it feel like everything was coming full circle...? What was he going to do if he had to go through all that again?

He knew the answer to that question, at least. He'd rather die than go through the same pain and anguish. That was one thing he gained from that experience fifteen years ago--he no longer feared death, at least. He had no compunctions about ending it if something like that were to arise again. None whatsoever.

Nash forced himself to calm down, take several deep breaths, and continue. Nothing like that is going to happen again, he assured himself. How could it? You won't let it. You're not seventeen and stupid anymore. Twenty years of experience has got to count for something.

__

Does it? Does it?

He searched within himself to find the answer, even if it was just want he wanted to hear. Eventually, he managed to bolster his spirits and respond to that lost, scared voice.

__

Yes. Yes, it does.

Nash kept walking.

++

Duke had never felt so unsatisfied in all his thirty-three years--and that was saying something. He scooted to the edge of the bed, as far away from Elaine as he could possibly get, hoping she would leave before he had to throw her out. He had hoped that this experience would at least settle his bodily needs, but he was sadly mistaken, even there. As loathe as he was to admit it, he still wanted Nash. Badly. Elaine had done nothing but drive this fact home.

So what to do? Could he proposition the man without feeling like an idiot? How does one come onto a man, anyway? Duke didn't even know how to let Nash know that he was curious.

Well, he knew the first step was to get the naked woman out of his bed and get clothed, at least. He'd start with that, and go from there.

"Elaine, are you done?" Duke's voice was a low grumble as he rolled over, pinning the woman with a disdainful look. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Got everything you wanted?"

The woman snorted. "Barely. You're really slacking off, nowadays. You just lay there. I'm a little disappointed." Despite her words, Elaine got up, diligently searching for her clothes.

Duke growled at her back. "I'm sorry, princess. You just don't do it for me anymore. Maybe because when I start thinking about the diseases you could give me, I get a little sick. Now get out before I toss you out." The mercenary sat up, making sure she knew that he could and would--and it would be very little effort to do so.

"Tootles, Duke. See you next week, same time?" Elaine winked playfully before slipping out the door, confident that Duke would come back, again and again. He was too lazy about such things to actually look for another woman, and more than anything, Elaine was convenient. They'd been together for more than ten years--if he hadn't left yet, he wasn't going to anytime soon.

Duke frowned at the closed door. Who the hell did she think she was? He wasn't a man to be predicted or undermined. Before he could work himself up into a rage, Duke realized that Elaine probably _would_ be right. As of now, she was the closest thing to a lover he had, and so he was going to let her have her way.

Well, that was going to change, if only to prove her wrong.

Throwing on his clothes, Duke wondered where Nash would be at this time of day.

++

There was really nothing better that Nash liked than taking a nap in the middle of the afternoon. It appealed to his lazy, hedonistic side and he didn't get to do it often. Sleeping on the road during the nighttime was hard enough as it is, let alone during high traffic hours. Inns were either too noisy, and sleeping outside when the sun was shining was a bad idea for someone as fair as him.

But here, the sheets were clean and the beds were soft enough. Nash's room was far enough away from the busy parts of the castle that it was peaceful and quiet. He kicked off his boots and spread out over the thin blankets, hearing his back pop dully as he relaxed. It felt nice, to know that he wouldn't have to get up in another hour or so and climb back on a horse or walk until his feet bled. No pressure, no noise, no--What the hell was _that_?!

Nash's calm thoughts were interrupted by clattering footsteps and his door slamming open. Duke stood there, breathing heavy like he ran the entire way from his room to Nash's. For a brief moment Nash feared that he'd been caught peeking in the other man's window, but dismissed the idea as quickly as it'd come. He was far too good a spy to be caught by this man.

"What the--" Nash began.

"Shut up, you," Duke broke in. "I didn't come here to hear you talk."

The blonde man looked amused and perhaps just a little smug. This was an all time record for him. Someone had resisted for a full week before giving into him--and he'd even kissed this one. Admirable, that. "What did you come here for, then?" Nash raised a brow suggestively.

Duke was in agony. How could he tell this man what he wanted when he looked like that? It went against everything he believed in to give in to him, and yet he knew he'd have to if he ever wanted to get a little peace.

Fine. The mercenary mentally prepared himself to be humbled. Duke was still comforted by the fact that although he wanted Nash, he didn't like him. That meant everything was fine. He wasn't gay until he started liking Nash, too.

Duke was good at lying to himself.

"When you kissed me; what did you mean by that?" Duke chose to ignore the other man's question. He wasn't going to give himself any more of a disadvantage.

"'Mean by it?'" Nash laughed and tossed his hair back, though it immediately fell into his eyes again. "I didn't 'mean' anything by it. It was just a kiss." The Harmonian went to work turning this situation even more in his favor.

"Then what the hell did you do it for?!" The fiery-haired man exploded, all his frustration emerging in the simple outburst. He hated this--not being in control. It was even worse that he realized it. He might as well have put a leash on himself and handed it to Nash, for all the good he was doing mastering the situation.

"Because I wanted you to put me down, obviously. Though, if you're interested..." Nash trailed off, leaving the end of the sentence to Duke's imagination, for which it happily supplied a multitude of images and phrases that would have made a lesser man blush.

When Duke didn't respond quickly enough, Nash continued. "Just admit it; you're curious."

"I am not." The red-haired man stubbornly refused to have words put in his mouth. He wasn't going to give into Nash that easily--though he had been ready to only a few seconds before. Duke didn't take kindly to being lead about like a dog, and he was going to let Nash know it.

"Then why are you here?" Nash responded quickly, like he had already had this argument once before. Perhaps he had. It was getting hard to tell.

Duke, on the other hand, had to think about the answer to that particular question. "I'm here because..."

Nash's brows raised, urging the other man to continue. "Because...?"

"Because I want you to leave me alone."

And it was the truth. He really did. Duke wished he could pat himself on the back for coming up with that one. He usually was horrible with subtlety and double entendre, but he'd actually managed to pull it off, that time.

Nash, however, was not quite so impressed. "Do you really? I feel obligated to point out that I haven't seen you in the past week; how much more alone do you want me to leave you?" A knowing look captured his fine features. "Or maybe you don't want me to leave you alone like that at all. It's been bugging you all week long, hasn't it? That kiss. Is _that_ how you want me to leave you alone?"

"Dammit!" Duke resisted the strong urge to punch something. Something named Nash. "Alright! You win. Is that what you wanted to hear? I want to screw you. I want to have sex with a man." Duke crossed his arms over his chest and refused to meet Nash's eyes, looking rather like a large, pouting child. Then Nash blew him away by snorting.

"You want to screw me?" He said. "Yeah, right. You don't even know what the hell you're doing. If I'm going to touch you at all, it's going to be the other way around."

"_What?!_ No. That's not the way it works." Duke frantically waved a hand in Nash's general direction, trying to emphasize his point.

"I daresay I'm a bit more experienced than you, Duke. I can assure you that this is, indeed, 'the way it works.'"

"But it can't be..." The younger man protested feebly, his shoulders drooping. Nash had won, and he knew it. He could still back out, but then he'd probably be worse than when he started. But... But... To let another man do _that_ to him? Maybe he'd rather be insane. That would be less humiliating, in any case.

Nash saw Duke's indecision and leapt to sway his mind in his favor. Taking the other man's wrist, Nash pulled him away from the door and closed it gently behind him, hoping to limit Duke's options for him. Nash fully intended to use his slightly greater height to its full advantage, and he did, coming in close to none-too-subtly push Duke further into the room. 

Duke, cowed, went along peacefully to Nash's herding. He was still trying to get used to the idea. _Are you really going to let him...you know...?_ The worst part of it was when he couldn't come up with an idea why not. _It's only this one time. No one has to know. If you don't like it, well, at least he'll be out of your system, right? _He soon found himself standing before the blonde man's bed. _Now or never. Make your move._

"So, what's it going to be?" Nash's words echoed Duke's thoughts. "I'm not going to for--"

For the second time that day Duke interrupted Nash. Only this time he did so by covering the older man's lips with his own, tentatively outlining them with his tongue before pulling back.

"I'll take that as a 'yes.'" Nash laughed. "You're sure, though?"

"Yeah. But if you tell anyone about this later I'll beat you up so bad, your mother won't recognize you," replied Duke, smiling for the first time since he entered the other's room.

"Alright, it's a deal. Don't say I never did anything for you." 

For a long moment, they simply stared at each other. When they did speak, it was in unison.

"How do..."

"Why don't you..."

Finally Nash ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "Look, it's not completely different from making love to a woman. Just relax." Placing a hand at the base of Duke's neck so he wouldn't pull away, Nash leaned in and touched his lips to Duke's once again. Before the man could protest, or really do much at all, Nash's grip tightened and he deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping past the younger man's lips with no resistance. 

Nash felt Duke's hands rest lightly on his hips before fluttering away again, as if the man feared he was doing something wrong. The blonde man caught the other's wrist in his hand and quickly returned it to its former place. Duke was concentrating on the kiss, but he did not miss the feel of Nash's body under his hand--there was no swell of the hip but the waist was as narrow; the muscle was more wiry and more toned. It was different, but...

Duke pulled back to catch his breath, studying Nash's face briefly. The taller man shook his head. 

"Don't stop and think about it. Just go."

"Just...go, huh?" Duke replied, one of his hands trailing higher.

"Yes. Do what feels right." Nash smirked at the other's touch, pleased that Duke was starting to respond. He captured the other's lips again, but jumped away with a start as he felt Duke's rather large hand cover and squeeze his left pectoral muscle. He glowered at the younger man, knocking his hand away.

"I'm not a girl, dummy. There's nothing there to feel," Nash explained scathingly, though he was unsure whether the gesture was intentional or not. Maybe Duke really didn't have any idea. If that was the case, the Harmonian really regretted his tone.

"Sorry. You said do what feels right..." Duke managed to look sheepish, but in fact, he'd done in on purpose. He figured that just because he had agreed to this didn't mean he couldn't tease the other man a little. He wasn't just going to give up the position of dominance so easily.

Nash raised an eyebrow at Duke, but decided that he didn't know him well enough to decide whether the expression was faked or not. It wasn't hard to believe that Duke had never had sex with a man--in fact, it was probably likely. Nash hadn't been lying when he accused the younger man of not knowing what he was doing. Well, all the better. Perversely, Nash despised gay men. 

"Do what's right within reason, then." In order to avoid any further uncomfortable silences, Nash pushed Duke down on the bed, following him shortly after as he straddled the younger's hips. By now, Duke was returning the blonde's touch with equal passion and it was everything he imagined it would be. Of course, in his imagination, he had been the one pinning Nash down to the mattress, but as much as he didn't want to admit it, this worked, too. At least this way, Duke couldn't be blamed for "just laying there," as Elaine had so bluntly put it. Isn't that what he was supposed to do?

Nash was right. He had no idea what the hell he was doing or he'd gotten himself into. Not that it mattered much now, from the blonde's death grip on his shirt, he doubted he'd be able to tell him to stop and still escape unscathed.

But at the moment, getting away was about the furthest thing from his mind. It felt _good_ to let the other man touch him--Nash's hands were firm and just the slightest bit rough, not sharp and unforgiving like Elaine's. Duke let out a small grunt of protest when Nash pulled away to tug his shirt over his head, leaving Duke's hair sticking up every which way. Nash chuckled, running his fingers through it even as he bit playfully at the younger man's lips.

Duke, rarely ever meek in anything that he did, was no different in this. Slipping his hands under Nash's snug-fitting clothes, he ran sword-callused hands over the man's waist and abdomen before going higher. His fingers encountered the smooth, slick flesh of the scars that ran lateral along Nash's ribs, and Duke traced them, musing in a distant part of his mind.

Once again Nash knocked Duke's hands away, barely pausing in his efforts to unbuckle the younger's belt. The mercenary was confused and suddenly at a loss as to what to do with his hands. What the hell could he do if Nash wouldn't even let him touch him? With a growl of frustration, he jerked at the other's clothes and smiled a little in satisfaction as Nash's shirt slid from his shoulders with little to no protest.

"Easy," the older man admonished. "There's no need to rush." He finally succeeded in undoing Duke's complicated belt and whipped it free with a small flourish. Breaking away to throw it over his shoulder, he quickly returned to the matter at hand. Nash slid the pants over the other man's hips, his lips quirking upwards in a sharp smile as he raked his eyes over Duke's now naked form. "No need at all."

Duke wished Nash would quit yapping and get on with it. Or let him get on with it, or something. The older man's pants were of a much simpler design than his own, and Duke easily pushed them down as far as he was able. As Duke looked the other man over, he once again felt a little pang of uncertainty fire somewhere deep inside him. The expression on his face told Nash as much, and the older man laughed.

"If you played the part of a blushing virgin any better, I'd sent you to a damned convent." Nash pulled his pants completely off, and settled on top of Duke easily. With a practiced ease, the older man reached between their bodies to brush his fingers along Duke's length before wrapping his hand around him completely, coaxing him erect.

The fiery-haired man moaned low in his chest; the sound was more felt by Nash than heard. Nash watched Duke's expression interestedly as he stroked him, amused by the play of emotions that paraded across the other's face. Men like Duke were always fun to watch. 

But even that got boring after a while.

"Having fun?" Nash's voice was throaty, his words muttered into Duke's ear as he worried the lobe between his teeth. He continued to run his fingers along the other man, hoping to distract him from what he was going to do next.

"Huh?" If Duke had had the conscious of mind, he would have glared at the older man, but as it was, his words only annoyed him. "Shut up, would you?" He grabbed Nash's hips, arching against him. The blonde's expression turned serious all at once as he resisted the urge to gasp as their erections were brought together, the color of his eyes deepening undiscernibly.

"Yeah, I'll shut up," he said, his voice as close to a growl as it ever got. It was because of Duke's request that Nash decided it wasn't that important to warn him about what happens next. Wetting his fingers cursorily, he entered the other man. 

Duke immediately tried to jump away. "What the hell do you--!"

"Be _still!_" Nash bit out, his voice holding a hint of steel. Duke immediately obeyed--no one had talked to him like that in years, the last of which had been his father. He was too shocked to really put up much of a fight anyway; no one had said _anything_ about this hurting.

"That hurts; stop it," the mercenary returned just as harshly. He didn't move, but he was tense underneath Nash, ready to throw him off at a moment's notice.

"It'll hurt even more if I don't. Quit complaining." The blonde added another finger, pointedly ignoring Duke. A moment later he encountered the man's prostate, and he pressed against it, smiling widely as the disgruntled expression vanished from Duke's face. "Better?"

Duke was nodded, his mouth falling open as he moved against Nash again, trying to feel as much of the man against him as he possibly could.

"Good." Nash continued the motion for a few long moments, until a sweat broke out on the younger man's skin. He traced a line up Duke's chest with his tongue, enjoying the salty flavor against his lips. Withdrawing his hands, Nash thrust his tongue between the other's lips even as he spread his legs a bit wider. He positioned himself to enter Duke, meeting his eyes with a questioning glance before proceeding. When the mercenary nodded and shrugged minimally, Nash went ahead, entering him with restraint. So far, Duke had been good to him, so he was inclined to return the favor.

Gritting his teeth, Duke considered Nash's previous words. He was right again--this could have hurt a lot more. As it was, he was having trouble restraining himself from pushing the other man away or generally lashing out at him. Duke wasn't used to letting someone hurt him without a little pain in return. Once Nash was sheathed completely within him, however, the older man captured his length, distracting him from the unpleasant stretching sensation.

Nash moved slowly, taking his time building a rhythm. While he didn't want to hurt the other man, he certainly didn't fear breaking him--that was what was nice about men like Duke. He was pretty much assured to be able to take whatever Nash felt like dealing out.

Duke's movements gained a little more confidence as the pain began to gradually fade. Eventually, he found himself meeting Nash's thrusts evenly; even reaching up to run his hands across the blonde's back--careful not to touch the scars this time. He was surprised to hear his own voice, calling out like he never had with Elaine, as the other man began to speed up.

A lazy smirk spread on Nash's face as he listened to Duke--the man was noisy--he found it endearing. But Nash wanted something other than to hear him cry out; he increased the pressure of his hand and thrusts as he worked to make the other come. Duke complied with his wishes fairly easily, tensing underneath him. Nash was soon to follow, the feeling of the younger man's muscles tightening around him drawing him to climax.

Nash rolled off of Duke almost immediately, laying on his side next to the other man. Duke blinked blearily at him, before closing his eyes and sleeping the sleep of the post coital. The Harmonian shrugged. He wasn't about to let a little bout of sex interrupt his afternoon nap. Duke could stay a little while longer while he slept.

The blonde was almost asleep when a large arm fell over his chest and he was pulled into a loose embrace. He struggled for a minute--Nash didn't like to be touched after sex--but the sleeping man stubbornly refused to let him go. Grumbling to himself, Nash acquiesced, reluctantly becoming Duke's pillow. Damn it all, there went _his_ chances of sleeping peacefully.

Tossing a wry look down at Duke, Nash sighed. The man looked stubborn even when he was sleeping. Well, just this once, he'd let him have his way. Nash was too lazy to fight with an unconscious man. He wouldn't win anyway.

Nash stretched and yawned, settling back down into the pillows. He closed his eyes, thinking that he'd at least try and sleep, even though he never been able to do so with someone touching him, and was asleep within a few moments.


	3. Chapter Three

++chapter three++

__

In Solis, 454.

Suffocating. He was suffocating. The heat pressed down on him like a huge hand, smothering him. Nash saw his doom approaching on swift wings, and it looked like Madame Hussem, the thirty-year-old widow that would _not_ stop flirting with him, no matter how hard he tried to escape her vice-like grip.

He hated these damn parties. Who the hell was dumb enough to have a party outside during the middle of summer? Nash shook his head slightly and amended himself. No, who was dumb enough to have a fancy dress party in the middle of summer?! Whoever the host was, he had a dagger in his boot for them. 

Nash reached up to pull at the cravat his mother had forced him for the countless time that day. The aging woman before him continued to blabber on, though Nash was pointedly ignoring her. He was sixteen years old, for God's sake. If he could smell the desperation on this woman, surely everyone else could, too. She tapped him on the shoulder with her fan once again, and Nash exploded.

"Look, lady. Even if you weren't as old as my mother and only half as pretty, I still wouldn't watch to touch you with a fifteen foot, galvanized pole. Why don't you go sink your fangs into one of the desperate old men over there?!" And with nothing more than that, Nash took himself away, missing the woman's shocked and outraged reply. He hated these people and their stupid games. Why did he have to put up with it? He was going to be a knight in the Howling Voice Guild; why should he have to deal with these poor excuses for human beings that called themselves noble?

The young man stomped to where the carriages were waiting to take everyone home. He'd wait here until his mother and father got tired of making small talk with those idiots. Granted, that could be several hours yet, but Nash would rather smell like the horses than go back. Sitting against the wheel of one of the carriages, not caring if his fine clothes got dusty, Nash crossed his arms over his chest and attempted to brood. He looked like a pouty, little boy, but no one was around to tell him different.

That was until his mother rounded the corner and, upon seeing him, came after him like some kind of evil, avenging angel.

"Nash Latkje, you get to your feet _right now._"

Nash did as he was told--he knew better than to argue with his mother when she used that particular tone. 

"What have I told you about insulting ladies?!" When opened his mouth to respond, she continued, "And don't you even argue with me! I don't care if you're in the Temple Guards now, that doesn't mean you can talk back."

"But--"

"Quiet! I think you said quite enough to Madame Hussem, don't you? And don't answer that."

"She was hitting on me again! Maybe if she wasn't so gross I wouldn't've said anything!" Nash pressed the point, though his better judgment told him that getting his mother any angrier probably wouldn't be a smart decision. And she did get more angry--her slight form completely stilling before narrowing her eyes dangerously at her son.

"I don't care what _she_ was doing. No matter what happens, _you_ are supposed to maintain proper decorum! Pointing out a woman's desperation is _not_, and I repeat, _not _ a polite thing to do!" 

"But--"

"Stop it, Nash. Go home and wait for me. Walk." She sighed and turned away. "I have to go clean up the mess you made. Like always."

"But it's fifteen miles away..." Nash protested weakly, making his complaints heard despite the fact that he knew his mother just didn't care.

"So? You're a Temple Guard, you can handle it." His mother walked away, hiking her skirts over her ankles as she continued over the grass.

Nash stared after her for several moments, thinking what he should do. Maybe he should wait for her to come back for good so he could apologize, but... No. _He_ was right. And if she wanted to punish him for that, well, then, she could. It would just make Nash look better in the long run. 

So he started walking. It was going to be hell with the fine--but heavy--clothes he was wearing, and the soft, kid boots on his feet certainly didn't make for long distance runs. He would have taken everything off and gone cavorting down the road in his underthings, but he doubted his mother would be pleased at the loss of the clothes, nor at the idea of her son running about near-naked. Besides, he couldn't get them off without help--he knew, he'd tried before.

Wincing as his foot encountered a sharp stone in the road, Nash took the hat off his head and used it to wipe the sweat from his face. It was the middle of the afternoon--generally the hottest time of day--and the sun beat down on him mercilessly. He wondered if he'd be able to get home without dying first. The road stretched on before him, and there were no trees in sight. 

Well, it would serve his mother right if he died out here, baked in his finery. Wouldn't she feel bad?

Nash frowned and then chuckled to himself at the immature thought. "You'd be sorry if I was dead!" He remembered saying something similar when he was eight--even then, he and his mother hadn't gotten along well.

Honestly, it wasn't that they didn't get along _well_; they did, whenever they were together in a casual setting. But that was rarely ever, especially now that he was at the Temple most days. Before that he was at the Guild with Master Sauro... He sighed. He wished he was back there, instead of where he was now. He hated the Temple, truly. It was so quiet and _boring_. The only excitement he got all day was training with the Grosser Fluss, and that scared him a little...

Losing control; fighting all out... It was like he saw everything in shades of red when he used that thing. He wanted _everything_ to die. At least he thought he did. His mind never seemed to recall exactly what happened, after he drew the Grosser Fluss--like it didn't want to remember. His master had told him that eventually, with time, he would learn to control it a bit better, and that he'd start remembering more. He hoped that was true, because otherwise he was never going to use it or the "inhuman strength" he'd been told he had.

Maybe that was why when he recollected himself after using the Grosser Fluss, he was always so damn tired. It was like he'd ran and ran and ran--his heart felt like it was going to explode in his chest. And then the next day, he'd always feel so sore... The first time he used the sword, he hadn't been able to get out of bed the next day. Luckily for him, Zaj had been there.

The blonde shook his head as he thought about the man. He was a strange one, that Zaj. The dark man was constantly putting himself in Nash's space and making him a little uneasy. But it wasn't a bad kind of uneasy, really; it was electric--kind of like that one time when he'd had a lightning rune attached for a little. When Nash had asked Zaj why he was always so close, the man had responded by telling him that was simply a habit--where he came from (before he was adopted by the Quilos family, apparently) everyone had a small personal space boundary.

Which was odd when Nash paused to think about it, because he hadn't noticed Zaj doing that to any other members of his family.

But besides all that, Zaj was a pretty nice guy--Yulie seemed to like him well enough, after all. His little sister told him that she had a crush on her tutor, but he'd promised not to tell. And he never broke a promise to Yulie. He was a little concerned about it, however, because Zaj was so old, and Yulie was a year younger than him. Surely it wasn't right for a fifteen-year-old girl to be liking a twenty-two-year-old man. 

Nash shook himself. Well. If it was alright for a thirty-year-old woman to be hitting on him, surely that would be alright--his mother wouldn't care, that's for certain. The young man kicked a rock in his way in a disgruntled manner.

It wasn't fair. He didn't understand why his mother couldn't just see things as he saw them. He didn't want to be married--he didn't like girls! They were stupid, vapid things, and except for his sister, he despised them all. And even if he did want to take a wife, he wouldn't be able to and still fulfill his dream of becoming a knight. His mother was just trying to complicate things so that he'd be forced to stay home and take his father's place as a boring, old dignitary. Why couldn't she see that that life simply wasn't cut out for him? Why couldn't she _understand?_

Moping as he was, Nash didn't hear the approach of a carriage until it was almost upon him. He moved out of the way just in time to realize that it was his family's carriage, and that they were going to get home way before he was. They didn't even slow a little to see if he was alright--certainly not enough to ask him if he wanted a ride.

He guessed that meant his mother was still angry with him. Fine, he could be angry too. See if _he_ apologized once he got home. Hmph. 

By the time he actually did get home, the sun had already started to fall, the orange light blinding him as he trudged up to the gates. Nash was soaked through with sweat and grimy from the dust on the road, and he knew the moment he stepped through the door he'd be caned, as per usual. Whatever, as long as he could sit down.

The lamps had already been lit, and the foyer glowed as he walked in, leaving a trail of dust and mud behind him. His mother was no where in sight, at least for now. However as soon as Nash closed the door behind him, she appeared, wearing a resigned expression on her face.

"I don't even know what to do with you anymore. Beating you certainly doesn't seem to work..." The woman sighed and leaned against a nearby settee, regarding him sadly.

"Hello, Mother," said Nash dryly, though he made no move to leave or any other sign of disrespect. 

"Hello, Nash..." His mother trailed off, looking sullen and thoughtful. A few moments passed where neither talked. Nash watched his mother, trying to figure out exactly what she was planning. 

Finally the woman smiled. "You know, I think I'll do what's best for both of us. I'm done. I'm done trying to make you into a proper gentleman, and I'm done forcing you to do things you obviously don't want to do. I'm washing my hands of you, Nash. You're free to do whatever you want. I don't care anymore. I'm done with you--I give up."

"Mama..." Nash spoke without really thinking about it, he was so shocked. What...? How could she be doing this? Didn't she care about him anymore? Didn't she love him anymore? What was going on? 

"No. Don't call me that anymore. I'm Anne to you now. And don't look at me like that, Nash. I'm only giving you what you wanted." His mother uncrossed her arms over her chest and left the room; left _Nash._ For the second time that day he found himself staring after her.

After a long moment, the full force of his mother's words hit, and he clenched his jaw against the need to cry that took him so suddenly. Nash tore up the stairs, not caring about the rug, just wanting to get to his room so he could be alone--he didn't think he'd be able to hold back his tears for that long.

Slamming the door behind him, Nash stood silently in the sanctity of his own chambers for a long minute. His fists clenched at his sides and he swallowed convulsively, doing his damnedest not to cry. After awhile he gave up, sinking to the floor as tears coursed down his face, cutting tracks in his grubby cheeks.

__

How could she just do something like that?! I'm her son... 

Nash made a choked sound in his throat as he drew his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead against them, curling into as small a ball as he could make himself. He cried rather loudly for several minutes uninterrupted, until he felt a hand on his head.

Jumping back against the door, Nash's eyes flew upwards to see who dared bother him when he obviously wanted to be left alone. It was Zaj. For a moment Nash was confused as to how the older man had gotten in, but quickly remembered that their rooms were connected by an adjoining door.

"What do you want, Zaj? Go away, I'm busy." Nash valiantly tried to suck up his tears--not that he'd admit to crying anyway, even if it was as plain as the man standing before him.

"I see that. Spare me a moment, please?" Zaj knelt down to the boy's level and reached out to wipe at the other's cheek. Nash jerked away from the touch, glaring balefully at him.

"Don't touch me! I'm not in the mood!"

"Your mother, am I correct?" Zaj pressed on, though it was clear Nash was feeling less that hospitable. "I'm sorry, I overheard her and your father talking about you. I was concerned."

"No you're not. You're probably gonna go tell her that I was... upset, just to make her happy," Nash accused wildly--he had to lash out at someone. Zaj was conveniently near.

"I wouldn't. She gives me my salary, but I understand _you_. Your mother doesn't understand you, Nash. I do."

"You do?" The young man continued to gaze at Zaj a bit warily. He didn't know what Zaj was up to, but whatever it was, Nash didn't like it.

If Zaj saw the mistrust in the mistrust apparent in the young man's eyes, he gave no notice. He simply nodded. "You know I would do anything for your family, Nash--but you've always been my favorite. What did you and your mother fight about this time?"

Nash was a long time in answering. Generally, he didn't like to talk about his problems. What good did that ever do? But faced with the other man's gentle insistency, Nash found it hard not to tell him. "She told me that she'd given up on me, and that she didn't care about me anymore." 

Slowly, very slowly, the dark man reached out and drew Nash to him, holding him comfortingly despite the young man's unclean state. Nash resisted at first, but soon yielded to the embrace. It felt good to be held, and although he was still angry, he didn't feel like crying anymore. Maybe it was Zaj's arms around him that calmed him, but Nash liked to believe it was because someone else was watching him. He hadn't cried in another's presence in years and years.

"What a horrible thing to say... Your mother is a harsh woman, Nash. What kind of mother treats her son like that?" Zaj's soothing, sibilant voice murmured, as the man rubbed slow, wide circles on the young man's back.

"A bad one," the blonde answered almost immediately, spitting out the words like poison.

"Yes... Come on, now. You can't stay on the floor forever," said Zaj, pulling Nash to his feet. "Let me help you with your clothes." Before the young man could protest, Zaj started working at the complicated clasps with his deft fingers, and in a matter of minutes, Nash stood in his underwear before him. The blonde resisted the urge to cover himself under the older man's scrutiny. The way Zaj was looking at him made him uncomfortable.

"I'm going to take a bath." He edged around the older man, careful not to turn his back on him. It wasn't that he mistrusted Zaj, per se, but more like he mistrusted the looks the dark man was giving him. It was like a more open, _blatant_ version of the look those noble ladies often gave him. Nash slammed the bathroom door behind him, grateful for the privacy.

As he drew a bath, the young man started to get angry again. It was bad enough that his mother had all but disowned him, but to have to deal with Zaj, too? That was just cruel--actually, unfair was what it was. How come Yulie never had to deal with stuff like this? Just because she was a girl...

Nash stopped himself before he thought something he'd feel guilty for later. Just because he was angry was no excuse to take it out on his innocent little sister, or anyone at all, really, including Zaj. In a distant part of his mind, he realized that it was _his_ fault that he'd driven his mother this far and he had no one to blame but himself. Nash immediately felt bad for not trusting Zaj.

Sometimes Nash wondered why he couldn't just cooperate, and make both his mother's and his own lives a bit easier. He winced as he slipped in the water, the temperature just sub-boiling. As he scrubbed the dirt and sweat off his skin, he thought about the noble ladies and their untoward advances. Sure, it was disgusting, but he couldn't just remain polite and gentlemanly like his mother wanted him to be? Why did he have to lash out every time?

Dammit, Mama, why did you have to go and do this? But it wasn't Mama's fault. It was his. He was a bad son... His mother and father and Yulie would probably be happier if they didn't have to deal with him at all. Maybe he should just go--it wasn't as if Mama and Dad were too old to have another son, after all. Hell, even Yulie--a girl--would make a better heir than him. Nash sighed. He was sorry. He wanted his mama to be his mama again. 

His skin started turning pink from the heat of the water combined with the furiousness with which he was scrubbing it. Nash washed his hair almost as an afterthought before stepping from the steamy bath, his pink skin making him look more like a boiled chicken than a sixteen-year-old boy. Unfortunately, the closet that usually held towels was inconveniently out of towels. That meant he was either going to have to go out to his room naked (with Zaj possibly still within) or ask the older man to let him borrow one of his. Nash swore, the servants around this place were getting lazy--couldn't even have clean towels ready for him...

Nash shrugged. Oh well. Not like Zaj hadn't seen a naked man before. He could just deal with it. Leaving little pools of water where he stepped, the young man exited his bathroom, making for his wardrobe. As he predicted, Zaj was still there, watching him as he crossed the room. Nash wanted to stop and tell him to paint a damn picture--it lasted longer--but he reminded himself that this was all his fault, and he shouldn't take his anger out on anyone but himself. He turned his back on the older man to find some pajamas, and started when a hand gently closed over his. Zaj turned Nash around, openly staring at the dripping, naked man [boy?] before him.

"What?" Nash asked, trying his very best not to get mad at the older man. Zaj was doing it again--putting himself _way_ too far into his space, and the situation wasn't helped by Nash's lack of clothes. "Zaj, can you go back to your own room now? I'd really like to be by myself." 

But Zaj came closer, completely ignoring the young man's request. Nash was still so short--barely coming up to Zaj's shoulder--but then again, he was still growing. It would be easy, sickeningly so, for the older man to overpower him. But Zaj preferred to do this as non-violently as possible... well, at least for now. He'd play with Nash when he was a bit older. Right now, he needed to have the heir's complete trust in him and, considering how simply the little snot thought, it shouldn't be that hard.

"Do you really think I should leave you alone now? You might do something we'd all regret." Zaj tightened his grip on Nash's hand, pressing closer. The young man took a tentative step backwards, his back hitting the wardrobe.

"Zaj, let me go. I don't like this." His heart was slamming in his chest, the man's nearness making him nervous. For the moment, however, he resisted the urge to use violence to get Zaj away from him. He might just be concerned, and have a really odd way of expressing it. Foreigners were weird that way, after all...

"Don't like what? I'm just trying to help you, Nash. Let me help you." A tiny thrill raced through the older man as he watched Nash's eyes widen. He could practically _hear_ his pulse pounding. Closing his eyes for the briefest second, Zaj composed himself, disguising the glint of sick pleasure he knew his eyes held. It wouldn't do for him to be found out so early in the operation.

"I don't need any help. I'm sixteen, I--Zaj, let me _go!_" For the first time, Nash tried to jerk his hand free, and he realized with a start just how strong Zaj was. Looks could be deceiving, apparently... Why was he being like this? Nash didn't want any of his help. He wanted to be let go. His whole body felt like it was on fire; Zaj's presence affecting him oddly. He didn't want Zaj to look at him like that--but he _did; _he didn't want him to touch him, but he knew if the older man were to let go, he'd be disappointed. Shamefully, he knew that if Zaj were to keep touching him, he'd like it.

Making hushing sounds, the older man let his other hand wander over Nash's slick skin. He watched the boy take this with half-surprise, half-panic. "I'll let you go, but is that really what you want? I can make you feel better. I can _help._" With a final gesture to bully Nash into semi-trusting him, Zaj pulled the young man against him, hoping that his youth and curiosity would finally take dominance over his fear and mistrust. His timing had been perfect, like always. With the boy feeling vulnerable from his fight with his mother, it made seducing him especially easy.

"Zaj, I don't... Why are you doing this?" Nash lowered his lashes, a blush spreading on his cheeks as he finally caught on. A frantic voice in his mind screamed, telling him that this was wrong, very wrong, men shouldn't sleep together; _you_ shouldn't be feeling this way with _Zaj._

"Because I think you're beautiful. Because I don't want to see you upset. Just because." Part of that was true. He _did_ think Nash was beautiful; the rest of it was just drivel.

Nash still looked unsure for several moments. Did he really want to do this? The scriptures said... Well, who cared what they said? That was something Mama believed in, not him. He was already going to hell for being a bad son anyway... Right? 

"I've never done it before," he felt obligated to tell Zaj. "I don't know what to do."

Zaj looked pleased, a cat-like smile spreading over his thin lips. "Yes, I know. Don't worry, I'll handle it."

And he did. Zaj was pleasantly surprised to find that, though Nash lacked finesse and polish in general, he was _very_ passionate in his responses. The young man started getting nervous again when he dragged him over to the bed, but Zaj easily overwhelmed him, quieting his protests. If he'd cared enough, Zaj could have warned Nash a bit about what exactly having sex entailed, but he didn't. He figured Nash would learn quickly enough.

Nash had liked it up until a point. But suddenly the older man's touch turned invasive and hurtful, and he wanted to stop. When he told Zaj as much, he laughed--and that was worse than the pain. Moving away made it worse; Nash found that out the hard way. He was ashamed when he started crying again and pleading for Zaj to stop. The older man simply shook his head at him and held a finger to Nash's lips.

"Quiet. Voices carry--and your sister is just across the hall. Do you want her to see you like this?"

When Nash had shook his head, Zaj had continued. The young man stayed quiet the entire time, though it felt like he was being torn apart. A few, long, agonizing minutes later, the older man finished and rolled off of him. Nash would have moved as far away as he possibly could if he wasn't in excruciating pain. He wrapped his arms around himself and turned onto his side, thanking whatever Gods were listening (none, probably) that this relieved the ache a little. Zaj made no move to comfort him or even to see if he was alright--and though Nash wasn't particularly happy with the older man, the fact that he didn't care, either, made him cry harder.

Zaj raked his eyes over the young man's backside, smiling smugly to himself. He'd managed to make him bleed, after all. But enough of that--if any of this was going to work, he needed Nash to trust him. Putting on his best sympathetic face, he touched Nash on the shoulder.

"It's always bad the first time. It'll feel better the next time," crooned Zaj.

Nash jerked away from the touch, gritting his teeth as this caused a wave of pain to completely overtake him. "_Don't touch me," _he growled. "There's not going to be a next time. You think I'm going to let you do that to me again?!"

Zaj looked wounded, and then deeply guilty. He was a wonderful actor. "I'm sorry. I tried to be easy. Didn't it even feel a little good? In the beginning?" The older man paused dramatically. "Well, if you no longer desire my presence... I'll leave you alone now."

Nash bit his lip and felt guilty. It wasn't like Zaj had hurt him intentionally, after all... "You can stay if you want. I don't care. Why didn't you stop when I asked, though?"

"Because I didn't think you knew what you were asking for." Zaj hid a smile from Nash. If he could convince the boy that he didn't know what he wanted, it made him especially easy control. So far, Nash seemed inclined to go along with what the older man said. It was going quite nicely, if he did say so himself.

"Oh..." Nash shuddered as he felt a warm trickle of blood creep down his leg and he reached up to wipe his nose. He secretly hoped that Zaj decided to leave anyway, because he'd much rather die in peace. And he certainly did believe he was dying--while he'd been in worse pain simply training at the Howling Voice Guild, this was a million times more humiliating than anything he'd ever endured there. He _wanted_ to die.

"You can stay if you want, Zaj, but I'd rather be alone, if you don't mind. I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you, or anything."

"Alright, then." The older man picked up his clothes and glasses, and exited the room before he started laughing. The little twit... This was more fun than he thought it would be. And it was so _easy_...but really, he hadn't even begun to have fun yet. In a distant part of him, he felt a little sorry for Nash, but he smothered that quickly enough. Just because he was beautiful didn't mean he deserved pity. Pretty things were always more amusing to break, anyway.

++

Oh, what had she done? She hadn't meant to be so hard on him, but sometimes that boy made her so angry! Anne Latkje paced the floor of her solar furiously as she debated whether or not she should go check on her son. Nash wasn't a bad kid--far from it--but he _was_ trying at times. And he just pushed her too far today. She should really go apologize...

Did she want to give in like that, though? Anne didn't want Nash to walk all over her--not that she particularly feared that he would, but... She shook her head. No, she'd been far too cruel. If her mother had told her something like that, she would have been wrecked. Who knew what Nash was thinking right now? He'd probably been stewing up in his room for the past three hours, contemplating ways to run off and join the Howling Voice Guild.

She knew that Nash didn't want to inherit, and she didn't really blame him. Anne saw what her husband went through, even though Nash did not, and she didn't want that life for her son. It was dangerous for him, just being who he was...

He already had to go through so much. Why did she have to go and make it worse? Anne sighed. The least she could do was make Nash's home-life as comfortable as possible, not be some kind of warden. She could be a little bit easier on him.

It wasn't like she _enjoyed_ the fact that thirty-year-old women found her son attractive. If she could have, she would be the one beating them off. But she couldn't do that... Nash had to learn how to put them off himself--and he needed to do it politely. They might have been one of the most powerful families in the Crystal Valley, and they certainly didn't get that way by pissing everyone off.

Tentatively, Anne knocked on her son's door. She was straining to hear anything from within, but could only hear the sound of her own heart beating. Finally, she heard a small voice that didn't really sound like Nash's at all.

"Yeah?"

Anne opened the door, and scanned the room briefly in search of Nash. She found him curled up on his bed, facing away from her. The blankets were drawn up to his chin, though it was the middle of the summer. She must have really upset him.

"Nash, are you all right?" Coming around the bed to take a seat next to him, she studied her son's face for a long moment. He'd been crying, that much was obvious. Immediately her heart went out to him, and she pulled Nash into her arms. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean any of it. Nash..."

For a long time Nash didn't reply. But contrary to what his mother thought, that wasn't because he was upset with her. It was because when she moved him to hold him, he felt that sickening stretching sensation and started bleeding all over again. Luckily, the heavy down comforter hid both his nudity and the evidence of his previous activity from her. When he no longer felt like he was going to throw up, he managed to speak.

"It's fine, Mama. I'm sorry for being a bad son. I won't do it again. Please..." 

"Oh, Nash, you're not a bad son at all! Why would you think something like that? I promise I won't make you go to those things anymore if those ladies make you uncomfortable..." Anne paused. "I don't really like them hitting on you, either. I'm sorry I scared you."

Nash shook his head, but remained silent. He was happy that his mother was his mother again, but at the same time, he felt guilty and vile for what he'd done. The young man almost wished his mother hadn't apologized--that way he could still blame her for making him cry and attracting Zaj.

To say that he regretted it would be a vast understatement. It was only an hour after the fact. And it wasn't just because it had hurt, either... 

Now Nash really was making himself sick. 

"Mama, I'm going to throw up, could you leave?"

"What's wrong, dear? Have you come down with something?" The woman put a hand to Nash's forehead, trying to gauge his temperature. The young man tried to remain still, though the contents of his stomach were roiling like a stormy ocean. The color had long since drained from his face.

"No, it must have just been the heat. Go now? I'll be down for dinner."

"If that's what you want..." Nash's mother backed off, but not before leaving a kiss on his forehead. "Should I send your nurse up here?" 

"No. I'm fine." As much as he loved his mother at the moment, he really needed her to leave. He couldn't get out of bed while she was still there and let her see him naked or the blood. Smiling reassuringly (though weakly), he prodded her until she got up.

"You'll tell me if you're still not feeling well, won't you?" Anne smoothed Nash's hair back before walking to the door. She waited until Nash agreed before stepping out into the hall. "You don't have to go to Church tomorrow if you're still feeling bad."

Nash paused until the door was firmly closed behind her before stumbling out of bed with a cry of pain and into the bathroom, where he was violently ill. He barely made it back to his bed before he lost consciousness.

As he slipped into oblivion, he was left with one resounding thought. 

__

Hell, at least it can't possibly get any worse. 


	4. Chapter Four

++chapter four++

It was odd, sleeping with someone else. If one was a polite person, one would try and remain motionless for fear of waking up the sleeping partner. Neither Duke nor Nash was especially polite. The older man moved restlessly in the circle of Duke's arms, unwittingly kicking and hitting him. Duke was otherwise unaware of the blows; he reacted only by tightening his grasp until Nash was forced to remain still. They remained in that position for an hour or so, uninterrupted.

Duke awoke first, blinking blearily at the man almost on top of him before closing his eyes once again. However, sleep refused to take him for a second time. Nash chattered softly, still locked in a deep slumber, bringing Duke's attention back to him. The blonde man's face was relaxed, not poised in a perpetually amused expression--it lent him a more approachable air. With his hair falling across his face, Nash actually looked quite young. Not old enough to be married in any case.

Married. Not only had he just had sex with a man; Nash was a married man. He had a wife somewhere--probably a jealous one. Wherever this mystery woman was, Duke hoped she stayed a mystery. Any woman crazy enough to marry this man was not one to trifle with. The younger man's mind filled with images of bloodthirsty banshees and wild, savage women.

Nash struggled a little more in Duke's arms, making sounds that were vaguely like speech, but too garbled to make sense of. The red-haired man regarded him warily, not quite sure what to make of him now that he was no longer dying to touch him. He was... Duke searched for a word to adequately describe Nash. Not handsome, but...he was _pretty_--like a woman, but different.

He rolled his eyes at himself. _That_ made a lot of sense. What was it about Nash that made him so damn dumb? It wasn't as though Nash was especially remarkable. To be perfectly honest, the man's scars were what jumped out at him when he first saw him naked. At first it had been in admiration, but now that he was closer he realized the pale bands snaking around Nash's ribs were far too clean and neat to have been battle wounds.

Duke moved his arm to take a closer look at them. There they were, pale skin pulled taut over bone--one for each rib, starting just below the pectoral muscle on either side. They looked like gills on a fish, they were so perfectly matched. What the hell could cause something like that? It had to have been something deliberate.

Slowly, he traced the lines--each easily as wide as his finger--wondering at them. No sooner than he touched him, Nash opened his eyes. Obviously confused upon waking up, the older man made no move until his surroundings seemed to come to him all at once, and he was up and out of Duke's arms before the other could react.

Nash pinned him with a disdainful look from across the room. "What are _you_ still doing here?" He asked, his tone scathing.

"What the hell is _your_ problem?" Duke inwardly flinched at Nash's tone of voice, but pretended it didn't bother him. Why should it? This was just as much a meaningless screw for him as it was for Nash, obviously. He'd come here with the intention of ridding Nash from his conscious, so why was the older man's harshness affecting him at all?

"I believe we've both served our purpose here. Isn't it time for you to leave? I'm sure I hear your woman calling." Nash turned away and pretended to find clothes to wear, dismissing Duke entirely. 

The younger man stared blankly at Nash's back before rolling out of the man's bed and collecting his clothing. He was surprised to find that he was sore, but once he thought about it, he figured it made sense. Shrugging and pulling his shirt over his head, he resisted the urge to apologize and ask Nash if he couldn't stay just a little bit longer. Instead, he taunted him, as he was wont to do.

"I don't know what kind of bug crawled up _your_ ass..."

Nash laughed. "My ass? My dear fellow, you're not the one that should be accusing me of such things... After all..." He trailed off, leaving the rest of the statement up to Duke's imagination--not that it was hard to pick up on what Nash was implying.

Duke scowled; he hated to be mocked. "Shut up. You're not _that_ good. I've had better barmaids," he muttered, stepping into his pants. "More hospitable than you, too."

"Who said I had to be hospitable? You're the one that came crying to be, begging for me to fuck you."

"I wasn't begging--"

"You were begging." Nash interrupted, looking generally amused.

"I wasn--"

"You _were._ Anyway, it's a moot point, because I know that if I wanted to, I could make you beg again." The older man crossed his arms over his chest and smirked, seemingly unaware of the fact that he wore no pants.

"I don't beg for anyone. Ever. Especially not for pompous pipsqueaks that don't know a dangerous man when they see one." Duke glared at Nash, ready to jump across the bed and strangle the man if he said one more thing to the contrary.

"Dangerous, hah! You're more like a kitty cat than a mercenary captain. Do you want me to rub behind your ears?" Nash pulled on his pants. "Anyway, I'm sure that you have barmaids to toss, so I'll stop wasting your time." He leaned against the wall, nonchalantly waiting for Duke to leave. The younger man glared daggers at him from across the room; the obvious dismissal stung, but he could come up with no adequate response to Nash's jibes. He felt like an idiot.

Slinking past the older man, Duke left Nash's room vaguely wondering when it was that he lost the position of dominance--if indeed, he'd ever held it at all. The other man had cleverly turned the situation in his favor, and now Duke felt like, although he hadn't been in control, he certainly was responsible for what happened.

All of this proved one thing to Duke, and he knew it with strong conviction. Nash was evil.

He wandered the halls of Budehuc aimlessly, at a loss as to what to do. He'd been wrong to assume that simply having sex with Nash would automatically solve his problems. Now he was even more confused than before--and angry and upset and almost a little degraded. 

Duke was used to his relationships being just sex, so why was this particular one bugging him? Perhaps because his partner had thrown _him_ out just as casually as Duke did his own. Tables turn, as they say, and men are bastards. If this was how Elaine felt all the time, then maybe some apologies were in order.

The red-haired man paused briefly and shook his head. He didn't feel _that_ bad, and at least having sex with Nash was fulfilling--though it almost would have been better if it hadn't been. At least that way he wouldn't have to feel guilty for enjoying it. 

He was sure that there was an easy way to blame Nash for all of this. Duke just needed to think of how. Falling back against the cold stone wall, he sighed. What was the goddamn point? He was beaten; he gave in; Nash won. He was the idiot. Duke got what he'd thought he wanted, and only that. It was his own stupid fault that he'd been expecting just a little bit more.

Whatever. Nash wanted it to be just a meaningless screw, and that's exactly what it would be. After all, that's what he'd wanted, too. He had Nash out of his system, and now he could function. 

Duke would keep telling himself that, even if it was a lie. He was already working on stuffing this incident in the back of his mind, never to be thought of again. It was better this way, he told himself. He wasn't gay--and even if he was, he wouldn't want anything to do with a man like Nash. Who knows where he'd been? He obviously wasn't picky about who he went to bed with.

He nodded firmly. That's right. It was just the same as waking up with some grotesque thing he picked up at a bar, too drunk to realize that it wasn't a good idea. He'd lived through that, and he could live this down just as easily. 

It didn't mean anything, and that meant that his feelings weren't really hurt and that he didn't really feel cheap. Emotions were only involved if the encounter was significant, which this was not. Duke didn't even have to get over it, because there was nothing to get over. In the course of things, this hadn't even happened.

Duke felt better, having justified his actions. He pushed himself off of the wall, and continued down the hall. Once he took a bath and got Nash's smell off of him, he'd be able to wipe this event completely from his conscious, guilt and blame free. It was as easy as closing his eyes and falling forward.

++

"So did you hear?" The woman turned to Elaine with a mischievous smirk on her face. "They say that your Duke was seen coming out of that Mr. Clovis's room. And you know what they say about _him._" 

The bustle of the tavern around the women made their voices especially hard to distinguish. Elaine had to lean forward to catch what the other woman said. For once it was actually something interesting--it pertained to her, after all.

"Oh? What do they say about him?" She set her mug of beer down on the bar and turned, arching her manicured brows questioningly. Maybe this would explain why the man had been so morose for the past few days. Duke had barely said a word to her since he kicked her out.

"You mean you don't _know?_" The other woman's grin widened with wicked pleasure--it was rare that she ever spread a rumor that Elaine hadn't heard before, and gossiping was her favorite pastime. "They say he takes men to his bed, as well as women. Is your Duke that way, too?"

Elaine had the presence to look horrified. "Of course not! Duke would never do something like that!"

The woman raised her eyebrow in response. "Are you _sure_? Because, you know, I heard he looked rather rumpled. And angry, too." She emphasized her point by pointing with her beer, accidentally sloshing some on the finished countertop. Elaine backed away slightly, not wanting to get any of the alcohol on her.

"Maybe he beat him up. Duke did seem kinda angry at him, a few days back." Elaine took a sip of her beer, contemplating. "I suppose the easiest way to find out, though, is to ask one of them." And since Duke would lie to her if it really had happened, it seemed she would have to talk to Nash, instead.

"Are you really going to go ask him? What if it really happened!? You'll come back and tell me right away, won't you?!" The other woman practically bounced off her bar stool. Elaine pinned her with a disdainful look, thinking herself much more dignified. 

"I might, it really depends." She wouldn't, but the woman didn't have to know that. Slipping off the stool and away from the bar, the busty woman left the tavern in search of answers. Had Duke switched sides on her? He wasn't exactly enthusiastic in bed anymore, but any passion between them had died out years ago. Neither Duke nor Elaine was faithful, however, he never slept with someone from a completely different _gender _before. The woman was--as she saw it--understandably upset.

Finding Nash's room wasn't as hard as she thought it would be. A few of the maids gave her knowing looks when she asked for directions, but she brushed them off with a scowl. Like she'd bed with someone like Nash. Elaine snorted. He was far too skinny for her tastes--and almost prettier than she was. She imagined he would bat those long eyelashes of his and she might just have to punch him. ...It annoyed her when men were delicate.

With a firm knock to his door, Elaine prepared herself to be horrified by whatever Nash had to tell her. When she heard a smothered voice telling her "it's open," she stepped inside, almost surprised to find the man hunched over his desk, immersed in paperwork.

For a long moment, Nash didn't look up or speak, simply leaving Elaine to her own devices. Finally, he signed the document he was working on with a flourish, and turned to look at whomever had arrived. Elaine obviously wasn't who he was expecting, and Nash made no effort to hide this fact from her. 

Nash grinned easily upon recognizing her, guessing at her reason for coming to his room. "I'm sorry, miss. I'm afraid I don't have the time to play with you. Perhaps some other time."

Elaine rolled her eyes. "Stuff it, you arrogant bastard. I'm here to ask you something." The woman placed her hands on her hips and glared at Nash. Any other man would be terrified, but the older man simply stood, leaning back against his desk. 

"If the question is 'will you have sex with me' then I'm afraid the answer is 'no.'" The faint lines at the corners of Nash's eyes became more apparent as he regarded Elaine with mirth. "I don't know where you've been, exactly."

Elaine forcibly restrained herself from marching across the room and showing Nash exactly where her fist had been. She somehow managed to grit out her question, but not before taking a shot at Nash, first. "I could say the same to you. Did you have sex with Duke or not?"

"Duke? What does he look like again?" Nash was teasing; he had to be--the merry light in his eyes gave him away. Elaine, however, was less than amused. She stamped her foot and marched right up to the older man.

"Stop screwing around! Did you, or did you not?"

"Is it any business of yours if I did?" Nash seemed to regard her disdainfully for a brief second, before turning back to his desk. "Maybe you should ask him, if you're so damned concerned." He plunged back into his paperwork, dismissing Elaine just as he had Duke, earlier. The Harmonian ignored her despite the fact that she was a dangerous woman, and Elaine didn't take kindly to being underestimated. Putting a hand on his shoulder, she pulled the man back to face her.

"I'm asking _you._" Elaine stood above Nash, giving her what she felt was an advantage. She intended to make use of it, as she moved closer to the man, trying to intimidate him with her presence. From what she saw, it didn't work.

"Kindly remove your hand, if you would, before I'm forced to do something quite rash." Nash smiled pleasantly, but it didn't reach his eyes. Everything about his body screamed at Elaine, telling her that he really wasn't joking, but she paid no attention.

"I'll remove it when you answer the goddamn question!" Her nails dug into the flesh on Nash's collarbone, making him wince before knocking her hand away roughly.

"Go sink your claws into someone else, you whore. I would suggest Duke, but I think you've ruined him for women everywhere." Nash paused to laugh harshly. "Certainly seemed to like being on the receiving end, in any case."

Honestly, Nash was expecting to be hit--was waiting for it, even. However, he wasn't expecting Elaine to actually be strong. Her fist smashed against his cheek with a force that was truly impressive. He actually had to fight to remain upright in the chair, and not shame himself further by sprawling out on the floor. By the time Nash recovered enough to turn back to Elaine, she was already stomping through the door. She was done with the conversation, he guessed.

Bloody hell, _that_ hurt. Nash touched his fingers to his right cheekbone gingerly, hissing as the flesh felt numb at first before exploding with pain. It throbbed, letting him know that it wasn't just a little tap that would go away quickly. Likely it would swell and, knowing his complexion, bruise a horrible amount. He'd look like a battered wife in a few hours. 

Someone needed to talk to Duke about keeping his bitch on a leash. Nash brought a mirror from inside his desk, examining the blow. A short leash, he silently amended. She'd definitely had some power behind that one. Perhaps he shouldn't have made her so angry.

And perhaps she shouldn't have stuck her nose where it didn't belong, and certainly wasn't wanted. It was his own business whom he slept with, regardless if that person was involved in a relationship or not. Nash thought it was so rude when people tried to drag him into their marital problems--like it was _his_ fault they were unfaithful.

So making up stories about being married to get fickle spouses to trust him didn't help matters, but that was missing the point entirely. If they hadn't already been inclined to cheat, a little lie certainly wouldn't sway them one way or another. Besides, it made him seem more trustworthy, and he always could use a little more help with that.

His face throbbed incessantly, quickly scattering any stray thoughts Nash had in his head. He wanted an answer for his pain--preferably one that he couldn't personally provide. And since he didn't know where Elaine's room was to pay the woman back, he'd just have to ask Duke. Hell, she was probably in there bragging about what she'd done anyway. That would be fun; he could tear her up verbally in front of an audience.

It was a pity, sometimes, that Nash refused to hit women--or anyone weaker than him, for that matter. Of course, he'd found ways to compensate for it through the years that were just as effective. Nash grinned to himself.

The Harmonian moved purposely though the halls of Budehuc, although the pain in his face begged him just to go lay down with some ice. By the time he got to Duke's room Nash felt his cheekbone swelling. Damn, damn, damn.

Nash didn't bother knocking, a fierce scowl prepared especially for the people whom no doubt resided within. So sure, was he, that he was being mocked just on the other side of the door, that he was actually taken aback when he was met with a dark room. Duke lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling blankly until Nash interrupted him. Both men stared, not quite sure how to react to each other. 

Nash spoke first. "Sorry. I thought Elaine would be--"

"What the hell happened to your face?" Duke sat up, regarding the older man oddly.

Peeved at being interrupted, Nash frowned at Duke. He wasn't quite angry, but he also didn't like being prodded for answers he wasn't ready to give. "Your woman didn't like hearing that I'd slept with you, apparently. You should tell her that if she doesn't want to hear the answer, she shouldn't ask the question."

"Elaine did _that_?" Duke swung his legs over the side of the bed, looking like he might approach. "What did you say to her?"

From the looks Duke was giving him, Nash concluded that it must look like something hard, huge, and heavy had slammed into his face. No, this wasn't right. He wanted Duke to think he was beautiful--he shouldn't be seeing him like this. To rectify this situation, Nash turned in the door way, ready to just drop it for now and go back to sleep. The sight of the younger man lying motionless on the bed--obviously brooding--filled Nash with a sense of weariness. 

"Nothing. Forget about it."

"Hey, are you sure you're alright?" The red-haired actually did get up this time, putting a hand out to grasp the other's shoulder, but stopping just before he made contact. He was still angry at Nash for being a bastard, but even he couldn't ignore a pathetic sight like the one that Nash presented. The bruise was ..._bad..._ to say the least.

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you. Sorry to disturb you." Nash sighed and turned, a little confused by the man's concern. He hadn't exactly done anything to earn it, after all, because he didn't like people hanging around. 

Duke shifted uncomfortably, wishing he could just scream at Nash and have done with it. But he was having trouble reclaiming any of the anger he'd harbored for the man in the past week, now that they were face to face. "It's no trouble." He stared at the Harmonian, wishing he could say more, but he was never really good with words.

Nash returned the other man's stare openly, wondering why he couldn't just turn away. "I should probably just go," he said, though he made no move to leave. 

Duke nodded in response, holding onto the door as if waiting for Nash to leave so he could close it. "You can come in if you want." The younger man snapped his mouth closed--not intending to have said anything at all, certainly not to invite Nash in. The blonde looked just as surprised.

"I shouldn't," said Nash. He stepped inside anyway. 

The younger man didn't move away to give him room to enter, so for a brief moment they were almost touching; Duke could feel Nash's breath on his cheek. The bruise on Nash's face seemed to have darkened just with this short exchange, and Duke imagined he could see it throbbing from here. He wondered, once again, what the older man had done to warrant Elaine's displeasure. Then he remembered that Nash was an asshole, and had probably just been himself.

Still... Duke couldn't help but feel bad for him. The man was built like a bird: fine-boned and easily crushed. Those long eyelashes and that hair certainly did nothing to improve this image. Nash looked like one good smack would send him flying--perhaps it had. Duke was glad that he had controlled his temper enough not to hit him before. God knew he didn't need that guilt on top of everything else he had piled on top of him by this man.

If Duke had hit him, he wouldn't be conscious. Nash's pretty face would barely be recognizable. Unlike Elaine, Duke didn't hit people out of spite. He hit them out of anger and fury. Luckily for Nash, he'd felt just shamed enough that he hadn't flown over the bed and killed him. At this point, though, anything was possible. Duke wondered what Nash's next move was.

The red-haired man watched as Nash settled against the wall, making no move one way or another. He didn't even meet Duke's gaze. He seemed almost...humbled.

But surely that wasn't true. That didn't match the image of Nash that Duke had in his mind at all. Why, from the look of him, Nash was about to start spouting apologies any minute. If he did, would Duke accept them? What would happen after that? Would Nash ask to stay?

Duke didn't have to worry about any of these questions, because Nash didn't apologize. He remained silent, staring at the floor under his feet. He seemed to be waiting for Duke to break the silence, only the other man was unwilling to do so. They both simply stared.

"What is it you're waiting for me to say?" Nash finally asked, shifting a little uncomfortably on his feet.

"'I'm sorry,' would be nice. But then I am hopelessly idealistic, aren't I?" Duke enjoyed this. For once, he felt like he held the power between them. It was a heady sensation.

Nash winced, expecting this. He wasn't quite sure what was worse, the fact that he had gotten himself trapped in this situation, or that he felt like he actually _did_ need to apologize. Duke was no different from any other man he'd taken to his bed, so why the hell was he here? Why did he care if Duke was angry with him?

Nash raised his hands up, shrugging hugely. "Alright, I'm sorry," he said, and he truly did mean it, even if his lavish body language suggested otherwise. 

Duke raised a brow skeptically. "That's the best I'm going to get, isn't it?" When Nash finally met his gaze with a humorous glint in his eyes, Duke couldn't help but smile.

"Your woman has convinced me that perhaps you are not the best person to screw around with," the older man explained, touching long fingers to the edge of the bruise on his face.

"I'm not. You're lucky it was her and not me," Duke replied, echoing his previous thoughts. "What did you say to her?"

Nash shook his head. "Only the truth. That you liked it and that she's a whore. Short temper, that one has." He grinned sharply, pretending that anyone else would not have reacted in the same way.

Duke was surprised to find himself laughing. "That's only not true because she would never make anyone pay for it." 

Lifting his eyebrows fractionally, Nash replied, "Is that right? Trouble in paradise?" He said this as though he hadn't been spying on them earlier, which was an admirable feat indeed.

"If it was paradise, do you think I would have let you fuck me?" Duke closed his eyes momentarily, still hating the way that sounded rolling off his tongue.

"I don't know about that. I am pretty tempting, hm?" Nash laughed and then cringed, the movement disturbing his aching face. Duke just rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, you're stunning right now. You look like someone's battered wife."

Nash glared at the younger man, but didn't respond. They lapsed into silence once again.

Duke--never having been able to stand a little uncomfortable silence--broke it. "Arguing with you is dumb. Why don't you sit down or something? You're bugging me."

"Well, I would, but the only place I see is the bed, and quite frankly, the idea of sitting on your bed frightens me." The idea of sitting _anywhere_ in this mess frightened him. Who knew what he would be sitting on? Nash shuddered at the thought.

"The sheets are clean, if that's what you're implying." It seemed Nash wasn't the only man present who had the gall to be offended. Duke crossed his arms over his chest and sat on the bed, as if to prove to Nash that it was, indeed, safe.

The older man joined him after only a short hesitation, taking a seat gingerly. He looked over the expanse of the bed disdainfully, before composing himself. "Well. It seems I haven't been eaten quite yet. You are a man of your word, Duke."

"I am. What now?" The red-haired man regarded Nash carefully, but he quickly came to conclusion that Nash was impossible to second guess. He gave up, and simply waited to see what his next move was.

"We have several options, I think. The most reasonable of these, in my opinion, is simply starting over again," he paused here to sigh, thinking to himself about what a dolt he was being. The truth of the matter was that he honestly liked Duke, and they'd gotten off on the wrong foot. If the man was willing, he'd like him to like him too. "I'm Nash Latkje. I'm thirty-seven and single."


	5. Chapter Five

++chapter five++

__

In Solis, 455.

The grandfather clock in his father's study was loud. With each second that passed, it seemed like a small explosion sounded in the large room. It was something Nash had never noticed before. He mused about it as he waited for his father to finish with whatever papers he was working on and pay attention to him.

"Now," said his father, putting his signature on one final document. "What is it that you had to tell me, Nash?" He regarded his son with a patient look, the wrinkles in the corner of his eyes deepening in a smile. Nash was so like him at a younger age--granted, he looked more like his mother, but that could hardly be helped. He still saw signs of the young man he once was in the boy.

Nash looked down at his hands. They were rough, and he had a thin layer of grime under his fingernails. He'd just come from the temple, knowing that if he wanted to speak to his father he would have to do it then. His mother would be horrified if she saw the state he was in. No matter. This was something that needed to be dealt with now, before Nash had a chance to lose courage.

"Well... First I have a question or two." He glanced up, checking to see if this was alright with his father before continuing. When the old man nodded, he pushed on. "Why did you bring Zaj here?" 

It had come to be in the past six months that just mentioning the man's name was a trial for Nash. He hated him. If his visits during the night and his broken finger (which he attributed to a simple sword accident) weren't enough to cement this for him, last month Nash had locked the door against him. He knew it was a foolish thing to do, but he was at his breaking point. It was either that or kill the man, and he doubted his mother would like a corpse on the floor. He still bore the evidence of that particular beating.

He'd finally worked up the courage to go to his father about it, hoping perhaps he could do something about Zaj without actually having to tell him what the dark man was doing.

"To be your and your sister's tutor. You know that. Stop asking silly questions, Nash." The man's smile faltered, wondering what this was all about. 

"Isn't there someone else? Aren't there any other tutors in all of Harmonia?" Nash tried to keep the desperateness he felt from showing on his face. Perhaps it was better if his father didn't realize how important this was to him.

"Now, we owe the Quinos family. They've always been loyal to us. Giving their son a job is hardly enough, I'd think." Nash watched as his father leaned back in his plush chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He wasn't going to give in and he was getting annoyed with Nash besides. 

No. No. He had to understand. Zaj _could not_ stay here any longer.

"He's not their son! He's just some adopted second-class--"

"_Nash._ You're not being fair. He's as much their son as you are mine. Why do you care so much? What has he done to you?" 

And there it was. The question he couldn't answer. Nash closed his eyes, giving up. He should just tell his father--it would ruin him, but it would get the man away from his sister and away from him. Wasn't that worth it? _Didn't he at least deserve justice?_

"Fath--Sir. You have to understand. Yulie shouldn't be around him. He's a bad man! _Please_, just trust me! I know what I'm talking about!"

The clock struck one, the deafening chime almost throwing Nash out of his chair. He gripped the armrests, his knuckles showing white through the skin.

His father looked shocked before he looked angry. "Don't you make demands at me, Nash. You can't come in here and start making wild accusations with nothing to back it up. Get out, unless you have something else to tell me." He made it quite clear that he didn't want to hear anything more, turning back to the work on his desk, dismissing his son.

__

No.

Nash was at his rope's end. Shooting to his feet and throwing his shirt up to display the myriad of discolored bruises that covered his midsection, he accidentally toppled a vase full of flowers on his father's desk.

"See? How's this for evidence?! He did this because I locked my door against him...! Please, _please_ don't let him around my sister..."

The young man watched in dismay as his father's eyes glazed over, effectively shutting him out. He didn't want to see...so he didn't. There was no help for Nash here.

"Look at the mess you've made," his father said, transferring his gaze from Nash to the floor, where water was soaking into the fine rug. "Get a maid on your way out."

"Dad..."

He didn't look up. Nash stared at him, betrayal and abandon showing clearly on his face. God, what could he do now? He was lost. There was nothing he could do... Nothing at all. He turned away to leave the study, the hall outside looking as desolate as a wasteland. 

...Scared in his own home... Was he out there waiting for him? What was going to happen to him now that he'd told? For all the good it did him, he might as well have handed Zaj a knife and stuck it in his back for him. He had the feeling that he'd made things infinitely worse.

Nash turned a corner though he had no idea where he was going. There was no where in this house where he could be comfortable--no where he could hide that Zaj didn't know. He felt like an animal, like he was being hunted and he didn't have any of the advantages his hunter did.

Taking a seat on the stairs that led to the third floor, Nash rubbed the heals of his hands into his eyes harshly. If it weren't for his sister, he would leave. But he feared that if he wasn't around Zaj would turn his attentions to Yulie. Just the thought of that happening was as painful as what Zaj did to him. 

It looked like his only other option was to kill him. Nash was fine with that. But how to do it...?

A hand on his forehead interrupted his thoughts. His head was drawn back slowly, until he was face to face with Zaj, who was standing behind him, looking down at him from a higher stair. 

"Planning something?" He asked, pushing his glasses up with his free hand.

"No," Nash replied, pulling away and stumbling down the steps. He hated being so close to the man, but he hated it when he snuck up on him even more. Nash started to walk away, not caring if Zaj thought he was running from him--not caring what Zaj thought at all. But before he could put much distance between them, the dark man grabbed his wrist, pulling Nash back against him.

"Why are you leaving so suddenly? Don't you want to spend a little time with the man you _love?_" Zaj said this mockingly, his lips curled up in a sneer.

"No. You have no idea how much I hate you," replied Nash, his voice bland. He didn't struggle to get away from Zaj, remaining motionless--though tense--in his arms.

"I think I have an idea." The pressure increased on his wrist, grinding the two fragile bones together. Nash didn't cry out, not wanting to give Zaj that satisfaction. "I imagine you hate me almost as much as I hate you and your family and everything you stand for." The older man got closer, as if wanting to make sure Nash didn't miss anything he said. "And that is why I'm going to kill you and your family and everyone associated with the Latkje name."

Nash had heard this all before. Zaj liked to tell him this on a daily basis, at least.

"But since you felt the need to tell your father about the little trick you played on me last month, I might have to speed things up a bit. Make sure you tell your mother and father how much you love them, and why it is they had to die before you go to sleep tonight."

A whimper escaped him unintentionally. Zaj laughed in response. "Remember that this is all your fault. You brought it all on yourself." He pushed Nash away from him, nearly slamming the young man against the wall as he brushed past him. 

Nash was left staring after him, more shocked than angry and more angry than coherent. He was going to kill him. There was going to be nothing left of him but a smear on the carpet when he got through with him. How dare he...?! He was dead.

++

__

It is a known fact that all first loves end badly. Whether it be in infidelity, boredom, or death, there is not a person on this world that hasn't been hurt by that first one... Do you remember his face...? Or do you remember your pain?

++

His parents fell ill three days after his encounter with Zaj in the hallway. On the morning of the fourth day, their family doctor emerged from their chambers with an apologetic look on his face and a meek whisper of "There was nothing more I could do." Nash remembered the moment faintly--Yulie burying her face in his chest and sobbing, Zaj pretending to look shocked and saddened. All the servants turned away crying, and amidst the commotion, he was frozen. Zaj's words echoed in his head...

"...this is all your fault."

So was he an orphan now? Nash realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach that it was much, much worse. He was his father's replacement now.

Looking over Yulie's head, Nash met Zaj's gaze. Pinning him with a horrified look, he clutched his sister tighter. Zaj put a mock-sympathetic hand on his shoulder, playing the part of a comforting friend quite well.

"I'm sorry, Nash, Yulie..."

Nash shrugged the hand off, getting to his feet and taking his sister with him. She looked a little confused at the hostility Nash clearly exhibited towards Zaj, but that, just like everything else she was feeling, was soon consumed by her grief. Perhaps this was a fortunate thing, as she missed the words exchanged between the two men.

"_Don't you touch me_," Nash hissed. The young man looked as though he was already possessed by the Grosser Fluss, despite the weapon being absent. If he had been within reach of a sword--indeed, any other pain inducing object--Zaj would not have been standing; this they both knew.

Rather than reply and jeopardize all that he had worked to build so far, Zaj remained silent, looking at the pair of siblings with what only could have been described as endless pity. As Nash stalked from the room, dragging Yulie after him, the dark man sighed heavily and placed a hand to his olive-toned forehead. The other servants in the room gave him a sympathetic glance.

"He's just upset," said one who had witnessed the scene. "Give him some time."

To this Zaj nodded, looking rather saddened. Silently, he congratulated himself on a superb performance. If the household staff--a suspicious bunch as they were--couldn't see through him then he supposed he had nothing to worry about. As if he would. He'd worked too long and too hard for it to be ruined by some impetuous brat just because he'd knocked off his parents.

Zaj should count himself lucky however, and he knew it. That Nash had been, up to this point, rather inactive was a kind of blessing to him. It certainly made everything easier. Zaj shook his head. No, what made everything easier was that people--even the kid's own family--had been more willing to believe him than Nash. How ironic; he wasn't even noble.

He wondered now, after his parents' death, what would make the young man break. Pain certainly didn't seem to work; Zaj had tried that. Granted, it made for some amusing results, but it wasn't exactly what he was looking for. Perhaps his sister...

Yes, that was definitely Nash's weak point. Yulie, his fiance (oh, of all the laughable things!), was the only reason that Zaj had been able to get away with as much as he had. Any mention of her made Nash go weak and docile, and while this was admirable in its own way, Zaj still found this largely idiotic. Nash should know that he was going to kill her eventually anyway, regardless of what the young man let him do to his body. It would have been humorous were it not so pathetic.

On his way out of the stuffy, death-ridden chambers, a servant stopped him. "What of the wake, sir?" 

Sparing a glance over his shoulder at the closed door to the master bedroom, Zaj replied, "Let the mortician and physician arrange it. I'll see if I cannot have the young master calmed down enough to sit watch." 

A sadistic thrill ran through his body just at the thought. It was too easy, honestly, to drive Nash insane with these opportunities that kept getting handed to him. Zaj wondered if he pushed hard enough, would he be able to see the exact moment when the young man's sanity abandoned him? It was certainly worth a good effort, he thought.

Suppressing the bounce in his step as he left the room, Zaj wondered where the pair of siblings could have gotten themselves off to. Once by himself, he smiled. It was rare that he ever had such a good day. 

++

The wake started as soon as the sun went down that day. It was Harmonian custom that the oldest son stand watch until the sun rose again, and repeat this maddening process three times before the recently deceased were interred in the ground, or as in this case, in the family mausoleum. It was a task that no one enjoyed but that had to be done--there had been many cases of dear family members buried alive because of medical or personal error.

The corpses of Master and Mistress Latkje were laid out in the room in which they died as according to custom, swathed in shrouds to mask the horrible expressions of death they also wore. Their seventeen-year-old son sat in a chair at the foot of their bed, presiding in his silent vigilance just in case they happened to rise once again. Nash hoped they would more than anything--hoped that the physician had been wrong--and that his parents would miraculously sit up and yawn. They'd stare at him, having no right to be there, and shoo him off to his own room until his mother came and got him for church.

They remained ghostly figures underneath the sheer cloth of their shrouds. They were too still to have just been sleeping. There was no hope for them to wake up; no chance of error. His parents were dead. 

Nash clutched at the arms of his chair, transferring his gaze from his parents to the floor between his feet, unable to look upon them anymore. It was like death was a tangible presence in the room, laying over him like a heavy veil. He felt the weight of it on his chest, stifling, as if to punish him for breathing in the presence of those whom no longer could. Nash pushed the air out of his lungs--he didn't want to breathe it in. Just as the room started spinning, he gasped. The air tasted like rotting flowers and his mother's perfume.

Fighting back the urge to sob, Nash looked once again to the bed. His father's body lay to the left, the once tall man already looking shrunken and diminished. The young man wanted to jump to his feet and scream, "_I told you so!_" If only he had believed him... 

But who was he kidding? He knew it was his fault. He might as well have stabbed them for all it mattered now. And he might as well throw himself out the window for all the good he was going to do. Never had he felt so weak and powerless or so _guilty..._

"_...this is all your fault._"

The corpses burned holes through their eyelids with their blank stares, regardless of blame. That was right, Nash told himself. They were still going to be dead, even if he took the guilt of their passing on his own shoulders. So why not tell the truth? Zaj had killed them.

But he could have stopped it.

"...**_your_** _fault._"

Nash brought his hands to his head, as if to shield his mind from the voices that came from within it. There was nothing he could have done! 

__

Nothing, nothing... 

"There was nothing I could do," he whispered, unaware that he had said anything aloud until a sibilant voice answered him.

"Is that so?" It said, drifting from the shadows behind him. Nash shot out of his chair, almost falling on the death-bed as fear and inertia carried him forward. He missed it, however, hitting the floor at the foot of the bed on his hands and knees. His panicked gaze shot across the room, searching for the voice but unable to distinguish one shadow from another.

Zaj stepped forward, the flicker of the single lamp playing across his glasses and emphasizing the evil light in his eyes. Some of Nash's surprise faded, though the fear that made his heart slam in his chest refused to diminish. Huddling against the footboard of his parents' bed like he wanted to become part of the oak, he waited for Zaj to approach him as he inevitably would. Nash felt any hope to get away shatter as the dark man stepped into the circle of light cast by the lamp, the smile playing on his lips illuminated.

"Nothing you could do, hm?" The older man continued, closing in on Nash until he stood directly over him. He resisted the urge to kick the boy; though it would have been his own fault if he had, placing himself at Zaj's feet as he did. But Nash made no move to get to his feet, nor even to look up at him. He looked as though he were curling in on himself, his eyes closed and his knees drawn up to his chest. Perhaps he thought if he made himself into a smaller target Zaj would miss.

Fat chance. 

Kneeling, Zaj brought his face as close to Nash's as he could, smirking as the younger man pressed himself further back against the bed. He wondered if he were to put a hand out, would Nash bite it? They put dogs down for that. 

Letting his eyes scour Nash's cringing form, Zaj could not help but note the similarities of this situation to when he had first put his plan into action. This time he was not here to offer false comfort.

"This reminds me a lot of that first time... Do you remember? Only that time you were crying. Are your tears all spent for your _dearly_ departed parents?" The sarcastic lilt put on the phrase finally made Nash open his eyes, and in those blue saucers there was more hatred than Zaj had ever seen one person muster. He was fairly impressed. Nash could do something other than whimper.

"Why this look? You play as though you don't love me, dearest. It wounds me," the dark man said, and he would have sounded sincere if everything about him didn't speak only of the pain and death he could cause.

Finally, Nash managed to speak, though his voice was barely a whisper. "I hate you."

Zaj laughed, actually throwing his head back in amusement. He reached out to put a hand on Nash's cheek, which the younger man evaded, looking more and more like a feral little dog as the moments passed. Zaj wanted to make him yelp.

"You hate me? Or perhaps you hate the fact that you fell for it. Perhaps you hate how weak and stupid you are. Perhaps?" 

The dark man's words struck a chord within Nash, but he would be damned if he let it show. Unfortunately, he was as easily read as a child's primer, and Zaj saw his words take effect with cruel glee. He finally managed to capture Nash's face in his hand and was surprised when the younger man didn't lash out. Nash remained compliant, so Zaj relaxed the fist of his left hand.

Making a low, pleased sound deep in his throat, Zaj pressed on. "That's it, is it? But maybe there's something more. Don't you hate that I own you?" Nash's startled, confused stare made his smile grow wider. "Heir to the Latkje estates and fortunes--indeed, master of them, now; so says your father's corpse--and you couldn't do a thing if I wanted you to strip naked and let me fuck you right here."

"For all your power, you are so devastatingly weak."

Zaj whispered the words as though they were terms of endearment, and if Nash closed his eyes, he could almost believe it. If he closed his eyes he could believe that he wasn't getting pushed to floor of his parents' bedroom where they laid dead. He could almost believe that Zaj's long, spidery hands weren't creeping underneath his shirt. Almost...

When Nash next opened his eyes, he was holding a dagger to Zaj's throat. He barely remembered how it had gotten into his hand, but the dark man's hands that were groping for a weapon that was not there gave him a clue. Pressing the blade into soft skin, Nash was surprised to see red blood--not black like he half expected it to be.

"I told you not to touch me." The fierceness of his own voice gave Nash a pause, but he recovered quickly enough, increasing the pressure of the dagger until Zaj was forced to back off. They faced each other, both crouched at the foot of the bed. Nash's gaze flickered from Zaj's face to the weapon he was holding and back up to the man's face. The younger man wetted his lips.

Zaj extended his right arm slowly so as not to alert Nash. He felt the satisfying weight of his derringer slide into his palm and, closing his hand around it, smirked. "Would you really kill me then? Make three corpses of your fault in this one room?" Zaj waited for the younger man to falter. When Nash did not, he frowned. "Would you kill one you claimed to have loved?"

Nash responded with a smirk of his own. "Yes," he said. "Most definitely." The angle of the dagger changed, and Zaj felt blood soak into the collar of his finely pressed shirt.

"Funny--so would I." Zaj brought the derringer up and shot Nash cleanly through the shoulder. It wasn't a killing shot, but then it wasn't meant to be. The young man fell backwards, the dagger slipping from his hand. He clutched at the wound, his mouth agape. Zaj picked himself up and dusted himself off, pulling a handkerchief from his breast-pocket to dab at the shallow cut Nash had inflicted. Looking down at the blonde man, he finally gave into his urge and kicked him. The force of the blow on his already bruised midsection coupled with the gunshot wound, caused Nash to gag. His grip on consciousness became tenuous, and he barely heard the knock on the door.

"Nash?! Are you alright?" Yulie had come running when she heard a loud bang. "Nash? What's wrong?" She began to get nervous when no response came from within the room. Putting a hand on the doorknob, she debated whether or not to enter. Her parents were in there...

The decision was made for her when the door opened, revealing Zaj. He was holding her brother in his arms, whom was quite unconscious. A blanket from her mother and father's linen closet hid everything that needed to be hid, except the blood at Zaj's collar.

"What happened?!"

"He fainted. Hit his head on something, I think. Excuse me, Yulie." Zaj brushed past the young woman with an air of concern about him. She fell back, knowing that if anyone, Zaj would help. He staggered down the hall with the weight of her brother, opening and closing the door to Nash's room behind him. Yulie turned her gaze back to her parents' room, shuddering as she saw the pale figures of what used to be her parents lying on the bed. As she closed the door on them, she knew it was an image that would never leave her.

Yulie put her back to the door, feeling slightly guilty that she could not take her brother's place to watch. Tears welled in her eyes as she realized that it didn't much matter anyway--they weren't coming back.


End file.
